Inevitable
by LianneZ4
Summary: One decision changed it all…. The truth came out: Neal had confessed; partners had been separated. Was it for better or worse, and will things ever be the same? Sequel to Can't Be Both.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: It was a long time ago, when I made the promise to write a sequel to my earlier story. Since then, events interfered; my life has become much busier, the show has moved on. And yet, I've decided to post this._

Inevitable_ is a work in progress. It picks up where Can't Be Both ended, and it goes completely AU after Countdown. _

_This chapter has been beta-ed by the amazing **Mam711**. I also have to thank my friend and cheerleader **November Leaving** – for everything. Finally, thank to all of you who have reviewed my original story and asked me about the sequel. _

_I hope you'll enjoy it._

* * *

**INEVITABLE  
**

**CHAPTER 1 – OUT OF MIND**

"Please fasten your seatbelt, sir," says a woman's voice. "We'll be landing in several minutes."

Philip Kramer blinks when the flight attendant wakes him from his half-sleep. He smiles at her. "Thank you, miss." Then he stretches his arms and back before he follows her instructions.

He's looking forward to being home, with his own team.

On impulse, Kramer pulls out his keys and looks at one of the two most recent additions.

'_Out of my mind. Back in five minutes.'_

Kramer gently touches the new keychain that he noticed and bought during his stay in New York. He examines the rest of them and becomes lost in memories – with a hint of melancholy, he looks at the old, small lucky fish charm that his late wife Rebecca got him as a Valentine's Day gift when they were young. Next to the fish hangs a small roundel with the logo of his favorite hockey team. There is also a miniature flashlight; a chess-figure bishop; a small, chromium-plated ace card; a dark, metal sphinx; and finally the "FBI", Female Body Inspector keychain that – according to Rebecca – was "the perfect joke and cover all at once," as she explained to him between chuckles when she persuaded him to add it to his keys.

Rebecca had always loved jokes, both good and bad, as long as they gave her an excuse to laugh.

Kramer takes a deep breath and moves on. His fingers stop when he comes to the other addition to his keys – a square, electronic key to a GPS tracking anklet.

It is a key to one man's freedom, and also the thing that holds the potential to largely change Philip's life for the next half a decade.

Suddenly, Kramer feels Caffrey's eyes on him. However, when he looks at Caffrey, Neal seems to be fully absorbed in a journal and paying no attention to his surroundings.

Kramer returns to his ruminations on days gone by. He runs his finger over the rough surface of the mini-sphinx, fleetingly remembering his and Rebecca's plans to visit Egypt someday; plans that never came to be. But even as his fingers caress the cold piece of metal, he can still intensely feel Neal's presence next to him.

Philip once again looks at Caffrey. Then he cuts his memory trip short and hides the keys in the palm of his hand.

He fights the urge to shake his head – it's been less than four hours, and already Caffrey's presence is influencing his life in a way he didn't expect, by interfering with the habit that he picked up several years ago. Kramer wonders how many similar occurrences will happen in the next few weeks and months.

He almost laughs at that thought. Taking on a consultant? Of course there'll be changes and complications. Kramer would be a fool to think otherwise.

He opens his palm and looks at the keys again. What would Rebecca have said if he told her that he was bringing another convicted felon into their house? Would she have thought that—

There it was again!

This time, Kramer almost catches Caffrey as Neal quickly looks away the moment Philip turns in his direction. A wave of irritation rises in him. This? Seriously?

Is Neal trying to con him already? This was Philip's private moment to reflect on his loved ones – on his _wife_ – with each cherished trinket. Not that he can expect Caffrey to understand family, friendship or love—

_Can't he?_

And that's where Kramer's miff dies out.

Because that's far from the truth. Philip doesn't trust Neal's criminal impulses, but this is one point he can't deny. Neal cares about people – about Peter and Elizabeth, about his former team, about that cute but sharp insurance investigator who seemed more than capable of handling him. He gave up the treasure, implicated himself and risked his life – all for the people back in New York. Even in his confession, when Caffrey withheld the name of the person who told him about the manifest, Kramer believes it was done in an attempt to protect someone.

And that's the essence of all of it, isn't it? Thief and con man or not – Neal Caffrey cares about people. That's one of the things that had made Philip consider taking him on as his consultant in the first place.

He reluctantly looks down at the keys in his hands.

Maybe the core of this is actually simple. Maybe seeing Kramer holding Neal's freedom literally in his hands is truly putting him on edge. Given the power imbalance of their relationship, it would be completely understandable.

Philip can't think that every single one of Caffrey's moves is a con, or they will drive each other crazy within a week.

They are supposed to work together. If nothing else, Kramer would like Neal to help him solve his cases. To fully utilize the con man's potential, it would be better if their working environment remained clear and focused. Making Caffrey hate him and creating useless antagonism won't help.

With one last glimpse at the man next to him, Kramer puts the keys away.

He wonders how he has gotten himself into this predicament.

Really, this should have been a simple, if extremely important, work trip. And while Philip had been curious (and very wary) about Peter's consultant, never, not for a second, had he imagined that weeks later, he would take Neal as his own CI.

And yet, here they are, on a plane on their way to DC.

It all started with a rather spectacular fiasco concerning one Nazi treasure and a certain stolen Degas painting. Because of his involvement, Neal Caffrey, a con man extraordinaire and a former consultant for the New York White Collar Division, has been sentenced to five years in prison, running concurrently with the remainder of the four years that he got for a prison escape that preceded his first deal with Agent Peter Burke, Kramer's old student and friend.

When Kramer first met Caffrey and learned that Peter suspected him of stealing the treasure, he was ready to write him off as a bold, shameless confidence man. That opinion was only reinforced when Elizabeth was kidnapped, Neal's involvement confirmed, and it appeared that he had run. Philip reckoned that Neal had been offered the sweetest deal by the FBI – and then he had taken advantage of it, thrown it all back in their faces and disappeared when the results of his deceits came back to bite him.

At that time, Kramer's perception of the situation seemed obvious and logical.

It had also been completely wrong.

When they got Elizabeth back, Kramer was reluctantly forced to correct his opinion about Neal. Judging by the daring rescue, it was clear that Caffrey liked Elizabeth and Peter. Yet, when Caffrey later gave them his teary confession, Kramer felt little sympathy for him. Neal might not have stolen the treasure, but his other actions were more than enough. And although Caffrey had told them that he had eventually made the right decision, to stay, given that he was facing decades in prison, Philip could hardly take those words at face value.

When Reese Hughes decided to allow Neal to remain under house arrest before his hearings, Kramer honestly thought he was crazy.

"_What makes you think he won't run?" asked Kramer skeptically._

"_He's on his anklet, and I'll have someone watching him," replied Hughes. "Besides, Caffrey knows we would catch him. He gave me his word he wouldn't do anything stupid." _

"_And you're willing to trust that?" asked Kramer in disbelief._

"_Up to a point – yes."_

Looking back, this was one of the first things that truly gave Kramer pause. Or more exactly, it was the fact that Reese had been right. As days went by, there was no news about Caffrey trying to pull an escape attempt.

Still, Neal hadn't been Kramer's problem anymore. Philip's new assignment in New York had been to oversee and aid the White Collar Unit during the events following the recovery of the Nazi treasure, to take care of the preliminary cataloguing of the treasure, and to make sure that this didn't end in an international incident. Kramer called several members of his team to come and help, and they turned their attention to examining the paintings, statues, jewelry and other things from the treasure. Unless Peter decided that he wanted to talk about Neal, Kramer was content to forget about the former consultant.

The cataloguing was proceeding quite well. In the meantime, Kramer tried to reconnect with Peter and help the Burkes as much as he could after Elizabeth's kidnapping.

And then they revoked Caffrey's work-release program and sent him to jail to await his preliminary hearing and trial.

Philip wondered at that. According to the hushed talk between the White Collar agents, Neal had freely admitted to the numerous violations of his agreement, without making excuses for himself. What was that about? He had to know that doing so would land him back in prison. With a confidence man and escape artist of Neal's reputation, this wasn't what Philip had expected to happen.

If it was a con, then Kramer simply failed to see the angle.

When Peter later confided in him that – despite everything – he still believed in Neal, Philip reluctantly began to consider that he might need to look at the situation in a different light.

Was it possible that Caffrey's remorse was genuine? Could it be that this wasn't just a scheme, but that he had actually told them the truth?

Kramer couldn't deny that Neal had piqued his interest.

And so after his talk with Peter and two days after Caffrey's revocation, instead of making arrangements for the treasure's transportation, he found himself examining the contents of Neal's old deal and some of his and Peter's cases.

At first, Philip rationalized that it was because of Neal's upcoming trial, that since the trial was something of a main topic of talk in the New York White Collar division, he wanted to know what was going on. Then, when Caffrey was sentenced, Kramer told himself that since Neal was connected to the treasure case (and Peter), it made complete sense that he wanted to find out more about him. But as he talked to Neal's former colleagues and read the statements that Caffrey's attorney had used in his defense at Neal's hearing, said rationalizations started to wear thin.

The more Philip learned, the more he couldn't help but feel grains of sympathy towards the other man.

And with sympathy came memories.

With a mixture of regret and bitterness, Kramer thought about George – about the young CI he had once loved as his own blood. Initially, his own son Evan had even felt a bit miffed and jealous about it, until he and George settled into a weird older sibling-younger sibling relationship. Philip remembered all the shared moments; remembered the first time that he had introduced George to Rebecca and Evan; remembered George using his charms to help their colleague get tickets for an art exhibition for his daughter; remembered the mixture of fondness and exasperation when he had noticed George drawing flawless replicas of American money during one of the FBI meetings _("Phil, it's not counterfeit – it's in pen, and it's not even on the right paper. Hypothetically, if I wanted to do something like that, don't you think I would have found better tools?"_). With a rueful smile, Kramer thought about George teaching Evan card tricks to impress Evan's girlfriend; about Philip, George, and Evan watching a hockey game together; and finally, he thought about making more and more allowances for the young con man, until one day it all crashed down around him and he found himself locking the handcuffs around George's wrists with his own shaking hands.

He hated himself for it. He kept telling himself he should have found a way – _**any**_ way to fix it….

How naive he had been back then.

Kramer had seen the same signs in Peter's own home – the picture of Neal Peter kept in his living room, the way Peter talked about Neal, the fact that Neal had his own favorite coffee mug at the Burkes. He had tried to tell Peter to distance himself while he still could.

When Elizabeth was kidnapped, he realized he had been too late. When Caffrey disappeared, Kramer could think of him with nothing but contempt and anger. He wasn't surprised, though. The betrayal should have been expected. That was what people like Neal were best at.

When Neal reappeared – with Elizabeth – and turned himself in, Kramer's beliefs were shaken to the core.

Even after Elizabeth's rescue, Philip badly wanted to view Neal in the same light as George – because deep down, every word of Neal's heartfelt confession felt like a slap. Kramer wanted to ignore him, to dislike him, despise him even, because Neal's mere presence raised questions that had plagued Kramer's mind for years, and that he still hadn't found answers for.

He was wrong.

Philip wasn't sure when the revelation came. At one point, though, he realized he couldn't judge Caffrey based merely on his own experience with his own CI.

When they were trying to recover the Degas, Kramer had held healthy respect for Neal's abilities. But watching Neal in the aftermath of Elizabeth's kidnapping.… Philip thought about his brilliance and sheer determination as he negotiated with Keller for Elizabeth's release, about the hours Neal spent in the sewer tunnels and narrow pipes with no guarantee that he would find a way out, about Neal's confession, his bravery and surprising moral integrity during the following events … and the more he thought about it, the more Kramer couldn't help becoming carefully impressed.

The realization caught him completely by surprise.

There had always been a place for a truly skilled consultant in Kramer's division back in DC. Caffrey had a lot of talent; leaving him to rot in prison would be a waste. It would be much better to use his skills. Kramer also considered Peter and Neal's apparent friendship, the way many of Neal's colleagues stood by him even after learning the details of the treasure heist, and Neal's seemingly genuine regret for his part in the whole fiasco.

Philip knew that Peter had made a few inquiries about whether it would be possible to reinstate Neal's deal, and that he had been shot down rather forcefully as incapable of supervising the con man. What was more, Reese Hughes had made it clear that he didn't want Caffrey in his division anymore. But maybe there was a way around that.

When he finally acknowledged the course of action he was considering, Kramer immediately realized that this wasn't time for rash decisions. He looked up more of Peter's cases from the last two years – discovering some really interesting reports that looked a damn lot like cover-ups, but also others that showed that when it mattered, Caffrey could be trusted to have his co-workers' backs. He re-watched the tape containing Neal's confession, twice, and he briefly talked to Peter's wife during one of his visits to their home. Then he talked to Reese Hughes and to Agent Rice from the Kidnapping and Missing Person division. Finally, he discussed things over the phone with Thomas, Kramer's most trusted agent and friend, who he'd left in charge of things back in DC.

In the end, after more thinking and after once more admiring Neal's forgery of the Degas (which was truly the best he had ever seen), Kramer made his decision: to try to use his pull to get Neal to work for the FBI again.

That raised another question, though. If he succeeded – what would be the best way to handle Caffrey as a person? How much leeway should he give him?

He had to be careful, thought Philip. Give Caffrey very tight restrictions, but not to the point that they would suffocate him. Always keep an eye on him, but don't rub in it, otherwise that could do more harm than good. He was sure that he and Neal could reach a reasonable balance that would allow them to do their jobs and live their lives without too much antagonism.

At least that was the theory.

And so Kramer started making calls and drafting the first and second versions of the paperwork for Neal's new deal, while keeping it somewhat quiet in case things didn't work out. When he was done, he visited Neal in prison, and later he suffered through several hours of exhausting talks with the DOJ and all the other agencies involved.

In the end, Neal's work-release program had been approved once again, and Kramer got himself a new consultant.

Still, even now, as he looks sideways at the man on the seat next to him on the plane back to DC, a part of Kramer wonders if he is out of his mind for taking on a notorious thief, con man and world-class forger of Caffrey's ilk.

No, he corrects himself, taking on Caffrey isn't the problem; it wasn't that rare for the Bureau to use questionable resources in the past. The problem is—

The core of the problem is, that at some point in the future, Kramer might begin to trust him.

That wouldn't be good.

No, that wouldn't be good at all. That would be dangerous.

Philip knows better now than to fall into a con man's trap.

And yet.…

Kramer isn't blind. He watched Neal when they were trying to recover the Degas; he has read the files, and because of that, he knows that Neal is one of the best criminals he has ever encountered. But he also watched him during his confession; he saw Neal's acceptance when it came to his hearing and sentence, and he observed him tonight at Peter's house. Despite the crimes the con man has so recently committed, Kramer is now inclined to believe him that Neal indeed wants to turn a new leaf.

However, he's not sure how long Neal's resolution will last … and neither does he know if Caffrey is even capable of going straight.

Some people believe that the life of crime slowly becomes an addiction, a statement that Kramer finds easy to believe. Philip also knows that if he's not careful and things go wrong with Caffrey, this could end up in an amazing disaster that would not only doom Neal to a lifelong prison stay, but it could also – unlike in Peter's case – completely kill Kramer's own career. If Neal messes up even remotely close to the treasure level again, Kramer will become known as the guy who fell for a con of his for the second time; more than three decades of hard work and painfully gained reputation thrown out the window with one bad decision.

Since the death of his wife, his job has basically become Kramer's life. And now he is willing to risk it – for what? To solve a few cases? As a favor to a friend? To give a second chance to a man he first met a mere six or seven weeks earlier?

One thing is sure – Kramer's life is about to become much more interesting.

o – o – o

"Here we are," says Kramer when he finally finds the key to his house and unlocks the door.

"Nice house," answers Neal politely, while stifling a yawn.

It _is_ a nice house, notices Neal as Kramer turns on the light and he hesitantly follows him inside.

"Take off your shoes here," says Kramer while he puts on his slippers. "And you can hang your coat over there," he adds after a moment. "I'll put away my suitcase and then I'll show you to your apartment."

"Okay," says Neal and follows Kramer's example.

When the agent leaves him, Neal tiredly falls into the chair there and puts his head into his hands. Because of a delay at the airport, it's already well past two a.m., and right now, Neal wants nothing more than to just find a quiet place to sleep.

He sighs before he looks up. Taking in his surroundings, he considers the place that might become his home for the next five years.

He and Kramer had already talked about this in prison. Because of Neal's new restricted radius and because of difficulties in finding housing in DC (especially for $700 per month), the possibilities for Neal's living arrangements were … limited. Then Kramer came up with a solution – and offered Neal the attic apartment in his own house.

The thought of living in an FBI agent's house – his supervisor's, no less – left Neal far from thrilled. At first, he almost rejected the option outright.

"_If you have a problem with that, then naturally, I can talk you through the alternatives," Kramer suggested then._

Neal immediately imagined something along the lines of the fleabag hotel Peter had dumped him in the first time, or possibly a holding cell. Then he considered the probabilities of finding another June given a 200 foot radius, which was ... unlikely. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated about whether this arrangement was truly that much better than prison.

Unfortunately, the answer was – yes. It was bad, but still better than spending five years in a six by eight cage with a constant fear of being shivved in the ribs if someone discovered what he'd been. And there was no way that he would let himself be put in segregation or solitary.

"_No, sir. That won't be necessary." Neal swallowed his complaints – and accepted._

"All right," says Kramer when he returns to the hall. "Let's show you to your apartment."

Neal picks up his suitcase. "All right."

They climb the stairs. Then Kramer unlocks the door to the attic, turns on the light and lets Neal in.

They enter into a miniature hallway – it just holds one big wardrobe, and then there is a second door. While Neal looks around, Kramer steps into the next room.

"The kitchen is connected to the dining room," explains Kramer while Neal follows him. "A bathroom's on the left, and this door leads to your bedroom."

"That's nice," answers Neal awkwardly as he looks around his new establishment.

It's … an apartment. The kitchen is painted and furnished in pale pastel colors. Everything is covered with a thin layer of dust, indicating that the rooms have been empty for quite some time.

The whole place feels so lifeless, so … empty. Neal almost wants to open the kitchen cupboard to check that there's not a dead body hidden somewhere.

Maybe there's a zombie in his bedroom.

He quickly stops that train of thought and focuses on Kramer.

The agent opens the door to the bedroom and peeks in. "The sheets are there. Do you need something else?"

"No, I don't think so," replies Neal.

"Good," says Kramer curtly. "Tomorrow morning, we'll talk some basic rules. Then you can have a look around, we'll eat lunch, and afterwards, we'll go to the office."

"Sounds pretty clear." Neal stifles a yawn.

Kramer notices it. "I think you should go to sleep now. We can talk and discuss things in the morning."

Is Kramer sending him to bed? Really?

Neal sharply bites his tongue before he says something stupid.

"Yes, sir.… Good night."

"You too," says Kramer.

They stare at each other for a while, before Kramer shakes his head and leaves.

Neal is alone.

After a moment of hesitation, he makes a quick exploration of his new "home".

Not surprisingly, the bathroom has a shower, a sink and a toilet.

The kitchen is well equipped and looks completely functional, with a fridge, a double hot plate, a sink, a coffee maker – there's even a convection oven/microwave on the counter. Dishes are hidden in a cupboard.

And finally, there's the matter of Neal's bedroom, with a big bed, a desk, several closets and a small bookcase.

All in all, while it can't hold a candle to June's, it's not a bad place, admits Neal in the end. He doesn't fully unpack, just opens his garment bag, hangs up his suits and takes out his nightclothes and the toiletries. When he's done in the bathroom, he puts on the nightclothes, turns off the light and climbs into the unfamiliar, foreign bed.

And that's when it truly hits him fully.

Twenty-four hours ago, he had still been in prison. Since then, he'd gotten out, painted a picture, tried to mend his friendship with Peter, had a parting dinner with his friends – and finally, he'd left New York and flown to DC, as per the conditions of his new arrangement.

Neal shifts in the bed. The sheets feel nice, so much better than the prison sheets – it's weird how quickly he had forgotten that the first time around—

This is all wrong.

When he was in prison, he had to be extremely careful and constantly watch his back – the obvious consequence of being considered a snitch. But now that the threat was gone, when everything has stilled and Neal has the time to truly think—

He's not supposed to be here.

He should be in New York, playing a game with Mozzie.

_(Mozzie, who is on the run.)_

He should be in his apartment, reading a book, drinking wine and knowing that June was sleeping downstairs.

He should be solving cases with Peter.

He should be _home_, with his family and friends.

Suddenly, Neal is angry – because he had given up the treasure, and he had risked and given them so much, and he still lost so many things (_Mozzie, Peter_) that mattered to him.

No, Neal won't deny that he messed up with the treasure and the Degas. Tomorrow, he'll smile, and he'll do his job, and he'll charm the hell out of DC, Kramer and the Arts Crime Unit. But right now he thinks he has earned the right to feel a little sorry for himself, at least for an hour or two.

Yeah, he's out of prison, and that's nice – but – but—

Mozzie. Peter. Elizabeth. Sara, June, Diana, Jones – his desk at the Bureau, his apartment, his canvases and brushes, even his other hats—

He clutches his pillow and uses his other hand to wipe away a stray tear. God, it's only been a few hours, and he already misses everyone; he misses them so much that it hurts—

Is it too snobbish to say that he misses June's view and her perfectly soft bedsheets?

If he ran, he'd never be able to come back to New York, and all the people that he loves – Peter, El, Sara, June, even Diana, Jones and the rest of the team – would be lost to him forever. So unless he chooses to go back to prison, this is his only chance. And it's just five years. He survived four years in prison for Kate; he can survive five years in DC with Kramer. Besides, he's reasonably sure that he'll soon find a way to influence some of the circumstances to suit himself.

It will be better in the morning. Neal wipes away another tear, determined that it will be the last.

He's tethered now – and so what? He can make it work.

He _will_ make this work.

They promised him that there would be phone calls, emails and visits. Sara and the Burkes promised that they would visit him as much as they could.

Plus there will be other people in Washington. Neal needs to stop thinking about this as a long stop on his way to freedom, but follow Christie's advice and try to make the most of it.

This is an opportunity. He can make new friends, contacts – with the slight change in his specialization with the FBI, he might be able to meet some of the best art experts of this time. He'll familiarize himself with the workings of the Art Crime Unit ("_Know thine enemy," Mozzie would have said_). He might finally be able to visit the Smithsonian museums, or check out some restaurants (according to his source, D'Acqua is supposed to be quite good). And there probably won't be any more mortgage fraud cases – though right now, Neal would forego use of his left hand for a week if he could just hunch over a file with Peter and try to figure out the scheme.

Neal stops before he goes overboard with his plans or dives into self-pity again. There will be time for that later, when he and Kramer have finished their discussion and "talked rules" – whatever that means.

Speaking of which.…

Tomorrow is an important day. He'll meet his new colleagues for the first time, and Neal wouldn't be a world-class con man if he ever underestimated the importance of first impressions. He already has lots of things stacked against him; he needs to be at his best for the introductions.

With that thought, Neal grabs his pillow and closes his eyes.

A few minutes later, he finally falls asleep.

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_A/N: Reviews are very appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks everyone for their reviews to the first chapter!_

_The next chapter is here; again, it has been beta-ed by the great __**Mam711**__. I hope you'll enjoy it._

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**CHAPTER 2 – IN THE MORNING**

They started after Kate was murdered.

There were times when Neal woke up really early at June's. He used to get up, throw on some clothes and wander into the New York streets. Sometimes he would check on his bakery, but mostly he would just enjoy the feeling of the city: the edge of dark and dawn. The mixture of silence and noise. The morning characters – people heading home from night shifts and people going to work, drunken kids walking in groups, homeless people in parks, dealers on the streets.

Neal Caffrey – the smiling confidence man usually stood out wherever he went. But Neal-without-Kate sometimes wanted to simply blend in.

Even a year and a half later, something might trigger a nightmare about that day on the airstrip.

During a bad week, he took two, three, even four walks around the city. They helped him clear his head. There was something oddly calming and disturbing about them. Either way, the walks kept the new memories of prison at bay, and allowed Neal to appreciate the feeling of freedom – even if restricted by a tracking anklet.

The need almost diminished after he nearly shot Fowler and expressed his grief, anger and anguish over Kate's death and his own helplessness in the whole affair.

The nightmares and his morning urge briefly came back with the treasure, but Neal suppressed it. He could not allow himself to become predictable.

For months, he'd had it under control. Then Keller decided he wanted the treasure. The race to get the Degas back started. Elizabeth was kidnapped. Both sides of his world which Neal had tried so hard to balance crashed down on him, and he could hardly care enough to pick up the pieces.

The only thing that had mattered was Elizabeth.

After her rescue, Neal made his confession. What followed.…

House arrest. The revocation of his deal. His hearing.

Prison.

…

Then Kramer's offer, Neal's release and their flight to DC.

The day Neal was released from prison again had been deeply exhausting. It wasn't just filling out the paperwork and then packing his things and dealing with the annoying mess at the airport. It was also making up with Peter and finally acknowledging everything that had happened between them; accepting the inevitable change and saying goodbye to his home and friends.

When they finally got to Kramer's house, Neal had been almost fit to drop. And yet, when he wakes up barely three hours later, covered in sweat and gasping for air … maybe it shouldn't have surprised him.

But it does.

o – o – o

_The flashlight fails._

_Darkness. Even with his eyes open, he can't see. He tries not to panic, and goes by touch. He comes to a dead end._

_He tries to go back, but the walls are closing in on him. He crouches, then he goes on all fours, but soon even that isn't enough and he has to worm his way through. _

_BOOM!_

_He feels the heat of an explosion._

'_NO!'_

_He's crawling forward through wreckage. Something falls on him, pins him down. He feels the heat of flames, though he can't see them. The air tastes like acid._

_He can't see._

_He fights. He tries to push through, get it away. He needs to keep crawling, needs to get to her, needs to save them._

_Nearby, somebody laughs._

_He can't move his arms. He's stuck. _

_He digs with his nails and fingers._

_Suddenly, he touches a human arm._

_He knows the soft skin. He knows it, knows the delicate wrists he has kissed and caressed. He needs to get her out, he needs to—_

_There's dirt and water and heat, and they need to get away—_

_She's not moving. _

_No pulse in the wrist._

_Something presses on his chest._

_Can't move._

_Can't breathe. _

'_SARA!'_

o – o – o

'_SARA!'_

Neal snaps his eyes open and jerks himself up in the bed. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes that there are no tunnels or explosions, that Fowler has disappeared and Keller is in a coma in a hospital, that he never asked Sara to go with him and the treasure to a Mediterranean island.

He looks around, and for a moment, he can't comprehend where he is, before the realization dawns.

Washington, DC. He's with Kramer, in his new home. Not in prison, not in New York. He's in Kramer's house on the edge of Arlington.

Running a shaky hand through his hair, Neal's thoughts go back to his dream.

Now that his brain is catching up, the nightmare starts to seem quite ludicrous. He can't imagine that Diana and Jones would let him go if they knew he had the treasure. He almost chuckles at the thought of Peter and El eating Satchmo because they became locked up in their house. Plus, why would Keller blow up the plane? And what happened to Mozzie? The dream didn't make any sense.

And yet its end seemed so real.…

Shaking his head, Neal viciously calls himself several unflattering names. He releases a deep breath and puts his cellphone back on his nightstand before he manages to press the call button and dial Sara's number.

For a few seconds, Neal stares into the darkness of his room. Then he reaches for the phone again. He blinks as he tries to read the time on the display, and then he groans when he realizes it's only a quarter past five. He can't even blame this on the prison routine that has been ingrained back into his subconscious in a mere seventeen days – even in prison they weren't so cruel as to wake them up before 6 am for the morning headcount.

He stumbles out of the bed and makes his way to the shower.

He climbs inside and turns on the cold water.

Freezing in mere seconds, Neal enjoys the sensation that wakes him up and helps him focus, diverting his attention from the already half-forgotten dream. He turns the water a bit warmer and ponders what to do now.

He realizes that he and Kramer forgot to talk about their morning arrangements yesterday.

Neal frowns. They were supposed to go to the office after lunch, so in theory, that left them with some time to sleep in before their talk. But what about in reality? Did Kramer expect him to be up at seven, ready to talk about this whole thing before they even had breakfast? Or would he wait until half past ten, so that they would both get a proper sleep after their ordeal yesterday at the airport?

For all Neal knows, Kramer could be an early riser who gets up at five for his military calisthenic exercises.

As Neal exits the shower, his brain suddenly creates an image of a chipper FBI agent knocking on his door at half past six with a big smile and a tray with coffee and freshly prepared waffles for his new consultant.

The thought is so ridiculous that Neal almost bursts out in chuckles. He shakes his head in amusement, enjoying the thought for quite a while, before he tones down the brief surge of cheery mood and returns to the original question.

Morning arrangements.

They don't have to leave until the afternoon. That means that the early part of the day is entirely up to their (Kramer's) choice.

So … was Kramer an early bird, or a Sleeping Beauty by nature?

Neal dries his hair with a towel and yawns.

He returns to his bedroom. He's still pretty tired, so he climbs back into his bed.

…

And despite his tiredness, he discovers that he can't fall asleep again.

He sees his suitcase in the shadows of the dawn, and the room suddenly feels stifling. He gets up and opens a window to let in some fresh air. It helps a little, but not much.

The memories of the airstrip and his dream hit him again with full force.

Kate…. Sara….

Neal bites his lip.

This isn't supposed to be happening. He –

_(feels the heat and flames)_

– he is stronger than this. He is _past_ this.

It didn't really bother him yesterday. Why now?

Eventually, Neal gives up and switches on the small light by his bed. He opens his suitcase, puts on comfortable jeans and a T-shirt and combs his hair.

Then he slips out of the apartment.

o – o – o

In the usually quiet house, Philip is woken up by the noise of creaking stairs and the front door opening.

He yawns and rubs his eyes as he stares at his alarm clock on the dresser. Then his eyebrows shoot up.

"What the—"

Philip is _not_ paranoid. That should be properly demonstrated by the fact that as he quickly dresses himself, cursing under his breath in the process, he tries to come up with reasonable explanations why anyone (other than his new, unpredictable consultant) would be sneaking out of his house at 5:30 in the morning.

He swears, if Caffrey's trying to mess with him on his first day in DC—

Caffrey's shoes and coat are missing.

Kramer's already reaching for his cellphone when he throws open the front door –

– and discovers Neal there, sitting on the porch stairs, hugging himself and staring at who knows what.

Almost sagging down in relief, Kramer blurts out the first words on his mind: "What the _hell_ are you doing here?!"

Neal looks up at him, startled. "I—"

"You know what? I don't care," snaps Philip, still trying to rein in his anger. "Now get inside and try to stay there until at least half past eight. I'll fetch you for breakfast."

Neal stands up and brushes the dirt away from his clothes. He follows Kramer to the door, but he stops before actually entering.

'_What?!'_ almost exclaims Kramer.

Neal takes a deep breath and looks Philip straight in his eyes. "I was just getting some fresh air. I didn't step outside my radius. I didn't do anything."

"Of course you didn't do anything," says Kramer, unimpressed, but already cooling down. "If you had left your radius, I would have gotten a call."

Caffrey hesitates for a second. Then he nods and goes inside.

Kramer almost collapses on the porch stairs. Instead, he returns to the house as well and locks the door.

Then he frowns when he realizes the alarm system didn't go off this morning. Had he turned it on yesterday, or not? Is it possible that Caffrey.…

He almost goes upstairs to ask him. Then he shakes his head.

No more hard questions before he gets at least a few more hours of sleep.

Philip takes off his suit jacket and returns to his own bedroom.

Four hours. It has been less than four hours since Caffrey came into his house, and already there's been a disruption between them.

And so it begins.…

o – o – o

A Sleeping Beauty. A light sleeper, but _definitely_ a Sleeping Beauty.

Though right now, his handler seemed more like an enraged dragon—

Neal drops himself into an armchair in his living room and utters a hysterical chuckle. Then he buries his face in his hands.

As much as he would like to make a laughing matter out of this (_Kramer chasing him only half-dressed and in mismatched socks_), it isn't funny.

He needs to get along with the agent. Not only because he is Neal's supervisor and because he holds Neal's freedom in his hands, but also because their relationship would give a clue to the other agents in their department as to how to treat Neal. At the very least, he and Kramer need to maintain a civil mood, or things could get out of control really fast.

At this point, it seems that even maintaining civility will be much more difficult than Neal expected.

He sighs. There is definitely no way he'll fall asleep right now.

Neal runs his hand through his hair. After a short hesitation, he decides to unpack his things. When he's done, he picks up a sketchpad and his small box with charcoal sticks, curls himself back in the armchair, and starts to draw.

o – o – o

Almost exactly three hours later, Neal is sitting in Kramer's kitchen, while the agent makes them coffee and looks for something for breakfast.

"'Hope you eat cereal," says Kramer almost apologetically when he hands him a bowl and puts the box on the kitchen table. "And… here's milk. I'd usually be a better host, but since I haven't been here for nearly seven weeks, most of the foodstuff.… Well, I'm sure you can imagine."

"Cereal sound great," Neal assures him with a polite smile, although he takes a second to secretly mourn the fact that instead of fresh milk, they have to make do with the long-keeping boxed stuff. But then, when it comes to Neal's current worries, the quality of his breakfast is nowhere near the top.

Their morning encounter is still on both his and Kramer's minds.

They eat in awkward silence, broken only by the soft clinking of their spoons and sipping their coffee. The moment they finish and Kramer puts their bowls aside, Neal decides to end the weirdness, and speaks.

"I didn't intend to wake you up this morning." He goes directly to the heart of the problem. Then he realizes that his statement could be interpreted in more ways than one, and frowns. "That didn't come out right. What I meant to say—"

"I know what you meant," interrupts Kramer calmly. He pauses. "You seemed tired yesterday. What were you doing outside at that hour?"

'_I had a nightmare about my girlfriend being blasted into pieces?'_

Neal hesitates before he settles for a partial truth. "Sometimes, I like to go outside just to watch the dawn. Breathe the air; watch as the sun rises.… I wasn't able to do that for four years. It feels nice."

"Uh-huh."

Judging by Kramer's skeptical expression, he doesn't believe him.

"Well, in the future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't leave the house until more reasonable hours," says Kramer levelly. "As you know, your curfew has been set from nine p.m. to six thirty in the morning. While it hasn't been specified in your anklet restrictions because of the size of your current radius, it is expected that you'll be at home for that time.… And frankly, I would rather not be woken up so early by creaky stairs again."

"Got it," replies Neal curtly, now feeling like an eight-year-old on top of being a prisoner. But what other choice does he have?

"Good," says Kramer, and Neal thinks he detects a hint of relief in his voice. "All right, enough about this morning. Now, I realize you've been Peter's consultant, but I think it's best if we review exactly what is expected of you."

"I guess the ground rules are the same? No law-breaking, no running, doing my job? _'Don't leave your radius'_?"

"Correct, but incomplete," says Kramer crisply. "I'm adding a few things to that list. First, I don't take well to being manipulated. I'll try to be honest with you, but I expect the same courtesy back."

"No manipulations," agrees Neal with a very earnest expression.

"I mean it, Caffrey," says Kramer sharply. "You play me on small things, you won't earn my trust anytime soon; you try anything bigger, and we're gonna have a real problem. Understood?"

"Yes, I understand," replies Neal, barely refraining from rolling his eyes.

"Second thing," continues Kramer mercilessly, "don't lie to me. That includes lies of omission as well. If you get yourself in trouble, be it at work or otherwise, then I might, and I repeat _might_, be willing to work out a solution with you, but not if you've lied to me and certainly not after months of evasions."

Neal almost grimaces. It's clear that the treasure fiasco won't leave Kramer's mind anytime soon. "Yes, sir. I'll bear that in mind."

"As long as we're clear on this." Kramer nods. "Now, I understand that while you're not new to being a consultant, things are different here from New York. That means there will likely be mistakes in the following days and weeks. I'll take that into account and try to be tolerant. However, if you try to screw me over—"

"I won't," interrupts Neal decisively, this time allowing the truth and gravity to show in his words.

"I certainly hope so."

"I won't," repeats Neal. "I mean it."

And he does.

He's not happy about his current position. However, he appreciates the chance he has been given, even if it's by someone he doesn't necessarily trust. He could be rotting in prison; instead, he has the opportunity to do something worthwhile and meaningful. He won't antagonize the person who has made this possible for him.

"Then let's let your actions speak for themselves," says Kramer simply. "What else...?" The agent frowns and looks down at his coffee cup, idly twirling the spoon in his fingers. "Oh. Your ethics on the job."

Neal raises his eyebrows, genuinely confused. "What about them?"

"I've read Peter's files about your cases, and I've heard rumors," explains Kramer. He pauses. "Did you know you two were called _'Gotham City's finest Cop and Robber'_?"

"Really?" says Neal incredulously. Then he chuckles. "Wow. I believe that's supposed to be flattering. Glad to know we were recognized."

"You were," replies Kramer with half a smile. Then the brief emotion disappears from his face. "But I believe a change is in order."

Neal frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I know Peter let you go into some gray areas when solving cases," says Kramer straightforwardly. "It's an understandable impulse and it might even have worked for the two of you. But it stops now. From now on, I expect you to make a real effort to toe the line when it comes to the law, unless we give you clear permission to do otherwise. Is that clear?"

Neal hesitates whether it's worth mentioning that he _has_ been trying to do things the sanctioned way. His whole life philosophy has been built on finding the lines and then moving them or breaking them. To ask him to stop doing that is like telling an addict to give up his stash and go clean.

He realizes Kramer is waiting for an answer. "I'll … try to bear that in mind."

Kramer tilts his head in acknowledgment. "I appreciate you thinking outside the boundaries; that's what gives you a different perspective from that of an agent. But you can't continue interpreting the law in any way that suits you. I understand that this is not a first instinct for you, which is one of the reasons why I won't give you more free rein until I'm reasonably sure that I can trust you in this regard. I'm sure you understand."

_I'm sure you understand._

Yes, Neal understands all right. Unfortunately, there's a vast difference between _understanding_ and _accepting_.

He wants to pull his hair in frustration. Instead, he collects himself and tries to keep a cool head. "How do I earn your trust?" he asks.

"You do your job," says Kramer simply. "You do as you're told; you don't go behind my back. Don't get in trouble."

Neal flashes him a smile. "I'll do my best."

"That reminds me. There's one more thing that might not be an issue in the foreseeable future, but I'd rather talk about it now – and that's your friends on the more questionable side of the law." When Neal starts to protest, Kramer silences him by raising his hand. "I realize that if I outright forbid you from contacting them, you'll just go behind my back about this. So let's make a deal. As long as you uphold the other rules, you can meet with them as often you want. However, I want you to inform me of every meeting."

_I want you to inform me.…_

At first, Neal isn't sure if he has heard right. "What?" he blurts in shock.

Then he realizes what Kramer said, and becomes completely appalled by the unexpected demand. He stands up and pushes his chair away. "No. No way. Absolutely not."

He feels a hot wave of something unpleasant and repulsive creeping over him. Kramer seriously can't expect – he's not a snitch!

"Caffrey—"

"You _can_ stop me from seeing them, but you'll _never_ make me nark on them," says Neal angrily as he looks Kramer straight in the eyes.

"Sit down, Caffrey," says Kramer firmly.

"I won't inform on my friends," states Neal resolutely.

For a second, he considers whether he had to make his stand so openly. Then he decides that if there is a point he has to protest, then it's this one. And if Kramer thinks this is a deal-breaker – Neal swallows at the thought of going back to an orange jumpsuit, but he won't budge on this. He won't betray his principles, and he won't work with a man who would ask him to do so.

Kramer stares at him. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he asks sharply after a moment.

Neal stills.

"You're not the first CI I've met," says Kramer. "I'm not stupid enough to ask you to spill on your friends. Now, would you _sit down_ and let me finish?"

Neal frowns, but then he reluctantly takes his seat. "Then what did you mean?"

"Like I said, I won't forbid you from seeing your friends. But I want to know who you spoke to, and when. No details, not what you talked about, just that you've been in contact. That's all."

The new protests already forming on Neal's lips die with Kramer's statement. Instead, Neal carefully considers Kramer's words. "Why do you want to know?" he asks at last.

"After what got us here, are you seriously asking me that?" says Kramer with raised eyebrows.

_Mozzie and the treasure. Of course._

"This point is non-negotiable," says Kramer firmly. "If these conditions are unacceptable to you, then you can give up contact with these people. But if I find out you're going behind my back about this, you really won't like the consequences."

'_What consequences?!'_ screams Neal internally. What else could he lose now, what freedom hasn't been taken from him yet?

Peter had never tried to keep him from Mozzie, Alex or Hale. He had always understood; he knew that asking Neal to forget about them was like asking him to give up his whole personality.

If they ever dared to contact him, how the hell is he supposed to tell Frank or Simon that he'll be informing his supervisor of their meeting?

Neal wants to laugh in disbelief at Kramer's statement that he knows how this works. This is unbelievable; it's crazy, it's –

– the result of his current situation and the consequence of his actions of the past few months, acknowledges Neal in cold realization.

He thinks back, to when El was kidnapped, back to everyone's anger and disappointment, back to when he thought he had a lifelong sentence ahead of him, back to when he gave up everything in a desperate attempt to gain at least the tiniest bit of forgiveness. He can still feel Peter's furious eyes on him; the horror when he thought that El would die because of him; the suffocating fear when he thought of spending the rest of his life behind bars, shackled, friendless, abandoned and forgotten. To never be a free man, always a prisoner, or a fugitive at best, to never get a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the people that mattered to him….

He almost shudders.

He never wants to go through any of that again.

_But how could Kramer ask him to give up his friends?_

Looking back, Neal can't help but once again appreciate his easy relationship with Peter. Peter had always accepted Neal for who he was, even in the beginning of their partnership, when the trust between them was still so fragile, when the agent believed that Neal would run if he got the chance, and Neal himself wasn't sure that Peter was wrong about that. The partnership had been risky for both of them: for Neal because he could make himself vulnerable to the exposure of his past, and for Peter because he could never be sure that Neal wouldn't break the conditions of his arrangement – for Kate, to be free, or simply because he succumbed to old temptations.

But while Peter had been aware of the risks, he had faith in Neal.

_This, on the other hand—_

His friends. People like Moz, Hale or Alex—

Does he really have to do this?

Already feeling suffocated by Kramer's demands, Neal seriously considers calling this whole thing off, even if it means –

Prison.

Five years of six by eight feet. Five years of isolation. Five years in a cage—

And letting everyone down.

Neal swallows.

"Neal?" says Kramer when Neal's hesitation lasts too long. "This is a precaution. I'm not asking you to become a nark, and I won't use this information against the people involved. But I do need genuine, actual guarantees that if I let my guard slip for a moment, I won't have another treasure fiasco on my hands." He takes a short pause before speaking again in a guarded tone. "Now I need you to tell me that you understand this, and that you'll follow these rules so that we can move on."

Neal takes a deep breath and tries to detach himself from the situation.

"Let's say I agree to this," he says blankly. "What if one of my friends allegedly becomes involved in something illegal?"

That apparently gives Kramer pause. "If it's not our case, then there's technically nothing wrong with you having _knowledge_ of their actions," he eventually says with a grimace.

"And if it is our case?" asks Neal curiously.

"We'll deal with that when it happens. If you absolutely have to, then you can either ask me to take you off the case, or help me recover the items in question without revealing your source," decides Kramer with a sigh.

Neal looks at the agent in surprise. "And that would work for you?" he states skeptically.

"We're the Art Crimes Team," says Kramer frankly. "Our first task is to recover the art; catching the perpetrators is secondary.… However, it would be best for everyone if you didn't let yourself be put in a position where these questions arise," he adds seriously.

Neal hesitates. Then he bites his lip and nods. "Okay."

"Make no mistake, though – this is not an immunity offer to everyone around you," says Kramer suddenly in a rather forceful manner. "If I find out that you're outright covering for someone, or that you're deliberately messing with any of my cases, you'll be glad if the revocation of your deal is the _only_ thing that happens to you afterwards. Are we clear?"

"Yes, we're clear," replies Neal, thinking, _no chance in hell_.

He _maybe_ might have trusted Peter to let him know if Moz or Alex got themselves in trouble, but there's no way he would trust Kramer to the same degree anytime soon.

At least he doesn't need to worry about Alex, thinks Neal with cold realism. If she cut him out when he was Peter's consultant, then she most definitely won't show up now.

"Uh-huh."

Neal can tell that Kramer is still having doubts.

He collects all his charm and gives Kramer a nod accompanied by a sigh. "No, really. I won't pretend I'm happy about it, but I get it. I understand your point."

"So you're saying I can trust you on this matter?" says Kramer with unconcealed doubts.

Neal gives him a light smile. "Of course," he replies, honesty written all over his expression. "And you should know that I'm truly grateful for your understanding. The fact that you'll let me stay in contact with the people from my former life … that means a lot to me. Really. I promise, I won't screw this up."

"So I can trust you to tell me whenever your friends contact you?" asks Kramer for confirmation. "And if it comes to that, can I trust you not to have a repeat of the treasure situation?"

"Absolutely," promises Neal seriously with dead sincerity, the partial lie slipping off his tongue quite easily.

He doesn't want to get involved in a new felony. He would hate to go back to prison. He would hate even more letting down the people back in New York who were counting on him to do the right thing. As long as they're reasonable, he will try his best to uphold the rest of Kramer's rules.

But he won't tell Kramer about seeing his friends if it might help to implicate them, and he will never, ever give up his loyalty to the people that he loves.

o – o – o

So this is how it looks when Caffrey lies to him, thinks Philip.

He tries to memorize the moment the best he can. It might come in handy later.

Kramer's determination hardens.

It's been minutes since they talked about honesty, and already his charge is breaking the first essential rule of their relationship. Philip considers whether he should call Neal on his lie, but then he decides against it. Let Caffrey enjoy his little illusion that he has conned him.

As Neal will realize soon enough, if he hasn't already, meeting his friends won't be an issue in the next few months anyway – unless they are willing to put up with Neal's increased closeness with the FBI, which Kramer sincerely doubts.

Still, if Philip had any doubts before, then the con man has just reassured him about issuing the rest of the restrictions.

o – o – o

"All right. Now that we've established the main principles of our agreement, let's talk house rules."

"You mean, apart from my implied bedtime?" Neal raises his eyebrows with an insolent grin that he uses to mask his true state of mind. "_Sir_," he adds for good measure.

"Caffrey," says Kramer warningly. Then he continues as if Neal hasn't spoken. "My bedroom, my study and the other rooms on the second floor are off limits. If you decide to snoop around there, the two of us are gonna have a problem. Are we clear so far?"

"Crystal." Neal almost feels a little insulted. Honestly – he has standards. What kind of houseguest would he be if he intruded into his host's bedroom?

"The kitchen down here is at your disposal, as are the laundry room, the dining room, the living room and the library – within reason." Kramer clears his throat. "I think we're both intelligent adults, so we can skip the part where I tell you to clean up after yourself and uphold the usual household rules."

"Sounds good to me," says Neal with a shrug.

"Perfect." Kramer pauses. "As long as you live here, the apartment upstairs is your own personal space. Feel free to hang pictures or redecorate it to your liking." He clears his throat, and something in his expression tells Neal he won't like Kramer's next words.

"As you know, the conditions of your new arrangement allow me to search your place whenever I want, without asking for your permission or getting a warrant," says Kramer at last.

"Yes. I know," replies Neal, barely restraining himself from making an unhappy grimace.

_Don't mess with my space, but I can freely mess with yours. _

"I don't intend to abuse this right." Kramer sighs. When he speaks again, his words carry a hint of compassion. "I will try to respect your privacy, and I will be most happy if I never have to enter your apartment in order to search it. But make no mistake: if I suspect that you're involved in a new heist or a con, or if I find it necessary for a different reason, I _will_ go through with it."

"Yes, I get it," says Neal lightly. "Guess that means I should get rid of the porn magazines under my mattress while I still have time."

For a second, he thinks he sees a spark of amusement in Kramer's eyes, but he can't be sure.

"Well, I don't think that those would be in violation of your arrangement…" says Kramer thoughtfully. "However, if you think it's an issue, I could review the paperwork…?"

"No, I don't think that's necessary," says Neal with mock seriousness. "Although, now that I think of it, what about inflammatory information? I have some really great reading matter that deals with conspiracy theories around the events of the twentieth century. It's all secret, high-profile stuff.… Could be dangerous to the government."

"Has it been obtained legally?"

"Yep. At least, as far as I know," replies Neal with a shrug.

"That sounds reassuring," says Kramer dryly. "Should I be worried about coded letters and secret messages?"

"No, nothing that interesting. It's just a book, second edition on top of that. However, it uncovers some _fascinating_ information. Did you know that Paul McCartney died in 1966 and the British government replaced him with a look-alike?"

The book is actually a gift from Mozzie, who saw it as a proof of conspiracy within conspiracies. _"See this? Everybody knows that the Houston alien abduction was in fact a CIA-sanctioned kidnapping to do research on the human brain. They make you think you know what they're up to, when in fact, they're up to something entirely different. Neal, it's a classic con!"_

Neal's heart suddenly clenches when he thinks of his friend who he won't see for the next five years – if ever. He quickly reins in his emotion and settles for an expression of peace and calm.

Unaware of his internal turmoil, Kramer gives him a small chuckle. "Well, if that's all, then I think your book will be fine. Enough about controversial possessions – unless there's something I should know about?"

"No, sir," replies Neal honestly.

Kramer assesses him, then gives him a short nod. "For now, I'll take your word on that." He clears his throat. "Now, about getting to work. On most days, I take the car all the way to the FBI building. However, occasionally when I know there won't be any fieldwork, I drive a few minutes to the nearest Metro station and use public transportation the rest of the way, to avoid the worst traffic and parking in the center. Either way, I usually leave a few minutes after seven, so I'll expect you to be ready by then."

"Okay."

So, they'll be going to work together – probably leaving together as well.

He should have expected this. Kramer even told him so in prison: _"You take this offer, you're putting yourself on a very close 24/7 watch,"_ were his exact words, if Neal remembers correctly. So it's not like this came out of nowhere.

And yet.…

He doesn't voice his thoughts – he has known that this would be hard from the moment he first saw the paperwork for his new arrangement. But he can't stop bitterness from creeping in.

His freedom. His friends in New York and his acquaintances from the other side of the law. His habits, his mind, his way of life—

And he's supposed to give up all this to pay for one mistake?

_He remembers picking the handcuffs around Elizabeth's bruised wrists, standing in front of her as she was cowering in the corner and Keller's men were breaking through the door; the sheer terror in El's eyes that she couldn't quite mask even as she tried to smile at him— _

Neal takes a deep breath.

He can do this.

"What if I need something out of my radius?" He asks the practical question that he finds most pressing right now. "If nothing else, I need to be able to get some groceries. Unless there's a store that close to here...? I don't think you'd want me to intrude on your every meal."

Kramer can't really expect that, right?

Neal feels a surge of horror. Or can he?

_If he'd just give him a chance. Nothing big, just _some_ amount of independence—_

"Good question," nods Kramer approvingly. "And no, there isn't any store in the immediate neighborhood. You have two options – you can either come with me when I go shopping myself, or you can give me a list. As for any other occasions when you need something, run it by me, and we can reach an agreement."

_Fantastic._

"I understand," replies Neal, trying to hide his frustration.

Somehow, Kramer still notices.

"This was all in the documentation that you read and signed in prison," he reminds Neal.

"I know that, sir," says Neal with forced calm.

The worst thing is that he can't say that any of Kramer's demands are truly preposterous, at least not so far. However, he's determined not to give Neal an inch, and that's something Neal isn't used to.

_This isn't right._

Can he do this? This isn't an anklet-restricted version of two-mile freedom; this is a different version of prison, with highly controlled and restraining settings that Neal already deeply detests.

Neal exhales. "Is any of this open to renegotiation?" he asks bluntly.

"At this point?" Kramer raises his eyebrows.

"Why not?" says Neal with a shrug. He gives Kramer a plain smile before he tries to press his case. "Yes, I can behave, but I operate best when I have more free space. I think I've proven that in the last two years. And I won't rob the White House or embezzle some imaginary company while doing my grocery shopping."

"Hmm, I'm sure you'd be able to," says Kramer with a hint of humor. "Your skills are legendary. But it doesn't matter," he says seriously, and the spark of amusement disappears from his expression.

"I won't screw up," states Neal directly.

"Forgive me if I don't take your word on that," says Kramer skeptically. "However, even if I believed you completely – which I don't – my hands are tied. You need to understand just how tenuous your current situation is."

"What do you mean by that?" asks Neal.

He realizes that there was a lot of skepticism about the original deal, and now there are perhaps even more doubts – from the DOJ, from the prison authorities and all the other agencies involved. But how big of a problem is it really?

"You kept the Nazi treasure right under our noses for several months, and then you successfully pulled off a multi-million dollar theft to cover your tracks; all that while you were on the anklet. That's damn impressive, not to mention very annoying. People don't like to be made fools of," says Kramer simply. "Your new work-release program was approved by a majority of one vote, and that was _after_ I suggested that there be a review of the situation in four months. Does that answer your question?"

"A review of the situation?" asks Neal nervously, liking this even less. "What's that about?"

"It means that in four months, I will meet with a few people and give them a report about you and this arrangement as a whole," says Kramer.

"So it's a formality?" asks Neal, already fearing the answer.

"At this point, it's hard to tell," replies Kramer honestly. "Most of it depends on how things go until then."

Neal fights his urge to bite his lips. "Could they send me back if the evaluation goes wrong?"

"Theoretically, yes," says Kramer. "The reason why I managed to get your deal approved in first place is because you're so damn good at this job. However, you need to be prepared that you and I both will be under very tight scrutiny for the next few months." He takes a pause. "You may consider this your probationary period. All I can tell you is: don't mess up, and you'll have nothing to fear."

"It seems like I've pissed off a lot of people," says Neal.

He shouldn't – he really shouldn't – but after this "discussion," he almost takes pride in that.

"And some of them will hold it over your head for a long time," admits Kramer. "Others will get over it sooner, and some will care only about how useful you can be to us. However, your deal has already been approved. I don't think that any of those who voted for you will change their minds – _if_ you don't do anything stupid."

Neal runs a hand through his hair and tries to smile. Judging by Kramer's expression, he has failed miserably.

"Neal?" says Kramer quietly. "All you have to do is prove that you can conduct yourself well under my supervision, and that this arrangement hasn't been a mistake. If you do that, then in four months, we can sit down again and revisit the conditions of your deal. Until then, you have to cope with it as it is."

So, maybe not five years of hell. Maybe just four months.

_Four months. A hundred and twenty days. Two thousand eight hundred eighty hours, one hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred—_

Neal gives Kramer a confident smile. "Sure. I can do that."

He isn't fooled by the agent's earlier words. Yes, he certainly believes that he and Kramer will be watched closely in the following weeks or months – but he can also tell that part of it is just excuses; that if Kramer truly trusted him, he would still have options for how to make this more bearable for Neal.

But if Kramer needs time to fully come to terms with this, then Neal will have to live with that.

For now.

o – o – o

Just like he promised yesterday, Philip tries to lay out the rules straight and square for Neal, so that there won't be any "misunderstandings" between the two of them.

At first he's relieved. Despite their morning confrontation, the talk goes quite well – except for the hitch when it came to Caffrey's friends, but then Kramer had expected that that would be a problem. Still, most of the discussion goes much smoother than he first imagined. Naturally, Kramer suspects that Neal's compliance on a lot of things is just pretense. But even then, Philip feels satisfaction that his approach, to be firm and honest with Neal, seems to be working.

But as he continues explaining the restrictions and watches Caffrey trying to handle them with a smile, he starts to realize that things are not as simple as he thought.

_Damn it!_

In a mixture of dismay, anger and a hint of guilty conscience, Philip firmly reminds himself he is _not_ the bad guy here, and he shouldn't let Neal's theatrics make him think otherwise. He's taking a big chance with Caffrey. Neal should be on his knees thanking all his lucky stars that the love of his friends and his skills have saved him from much harsher consequences than house arrest and temporary separation from his former home.

All the rules he has laid down for Caffrey are reasonable, thinks Philip. He has a ton of good reasons to be cautious. He has established his authority with Neal. He had given him clear boundaries. He has taken the necessary precautions.

Neal notices Philip looking at him, and flashes him a megawatt smile even as he intertwines his fingers on the table and clenches them so hard that his knuckles almost turn white—

He is well on his way to making the man miserable, realizes Kramer with a start.

_Damn._

While Philip won't lose any sleep if Caffrey is upset about a few conditions of his new situation, he doesn't want him to hate DC.

Philip respects Neal. He holds his abilities in extremely high esteem, and while he doesn't pretend to fully understand him, he appreciates Neal's bravery and intelligence. He wants those skills to work for him, and he wants to mold Neal into a law-abiding, honest citizen.

But he can't relent on any of his conditions. He can't take the risk of being conned and deceived.

_Later_, thinks Philip. Later, if Neal proves to him that he can be trusted, then he'll give him more space. But not now, not yet.

Suddenly, Kramer wants nothing more than to put this whole unpleasant thing behind them.

"I think that's all for now," he says in a very business-like manner and gets up. He looks at the clock on the wall. "It's quarter to ten. I'll call you for lunch at about twelve, and soon afterwards we'll leave, and set you up in the office."

"Okay," replies Neal and stands up as well. "I think I'll go back to my rooms now, then."

Philip hesitates, then he calls him when Neal's almost at the door. "Caffrey."

Neal turns around. "Yes, sir?"

Kramer pauses, suddenly feeling almost insecure. Everything important has already been said between them. So why has he stopped Caffrey?

"Is there anything else?" asks Neal after a pause.

"Welcome to DC," says Philip at last.

Neal stares at him for a moment. Then something in his posture changes, and he gives him a true, genuine smile.

"Thank you," he replies.

Then he leaves.

Philip shakes his head.

_What in the world has he gotten himself into?_

* * *

_A/N: All feedback is very precious. Let me know what you think! _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: __Only a few days till the show resumes!_

_Again, thank you all who have reviewed the previous chapter. Chapter 3 has been beta-ed by __**Mam711**__. Please, enjoy!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 3 – NEW BEGINNINGS**

_- You never get a second chance to make a first impression._

_Unknown_

* * *

When Neal notices a spot to sit down, he takes a place on the bench and rests his hands on his knees.

Less than two streets. Seven houses and five minutes of very slow walking around the edge. That's what his new radius entails.

He _hates_ beeping and orange check lights.

Neal barely suppresses a sigh of frustration.

He read the paperwork in prison. And he stared at the 200 feet for quite some time before he signed the damn thing. But reading about it is still different from experiencing it.

He tries to see this in a positive light.

It's basically house arrest. A lot of people have coped with this before him, going back as far as the Middle Ages and Galileo Galilei. Not to mention that this is a temporary situation. If others could do it, then Neal can too.

And he would rather live with an orange check light than with an orange jumpsuit … probably.

At least the area is nice, thinks Neal. Not exactly his cup of tea – he prefers the feel of the city – but it's clean, there are trees and lawns, and there is something almost peaceful about the whole place.

He drapes his arms around the back of the bench, eyes closed, enjoying the flickering feeling of sun on his face. It's already quite hot, and it will only get worse – it's the beginning of July, and the sky is completely cloudless. For now, though, the heat is still quite bearable, especially thanks to the cooling shadow provided by the trees.

Neal relaxes, trying to catch up a bit on the rest that evaded him at night. Suddenly, he smiles – he remembers the message from Sara that he found on his cellphone after his talk with Kramer: a short but heartfelt variation of "Have a nice day" and "I miss you." Neal has made sure that his reply showed his appreciation for the simple gesture that had nevertheless brightened his morning.

Sara and June had visited him during his eighteen-day stay back in the penitentiary. Neal fondly remembers June's quiet grace, nonchalance, kindness and compassion during both of her visits – and his heart breaks a little when he remembers Sara's horrible, awkward attempts to stumble through the talk over the glass that separated them. June had made him smile, but Sara – she had been trying, Neal knew that, but he had almost felt relieved when she finally left.

_Almost._

He opens his eyes and shakes his head. Why's he thinking about prison now?

Maybe it was the talk with Kramer. This four-month evaluation thing – he knows he can do it, of course he can, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

Neal ignores the little voice that tells him he could have done it with Peter at his side. The situation has changed, and the quicker he adapts to that, the better.

(But—)

That's it, says Neal to himself and stands up with newfound resolution. He is done moping about the past – better to move on and do something meaningful. He could draw a bit again – he hasn't been able to bring his paints and easel to DC, as traveling by a plane forced him to prioritize, and in the end, clothes and other necessities had won (barely). Or he could read Mozzie's book, or the newspaper. Hell, he might even make his grocery list. That's not a bad idea, actually; the sooner he establishes his independence, at least in this one area, the better. There are probably a dozen ways to kill time.

Neal will have lots of opportunity to discover them all.

o – o – o

Philip watches as Caffrey checks his appearance in a mirror in the hallway, slightly adjusting his tie and jacket before he flips on his hat and apparently decides that everything is in order.

"Ready to go now?" he asks with a hint of impatience.

"Absolutely," replies Neal with a smile.

Philip makes a call to the Marshals Office to inform them that they're leaving. He lets Neal wait while he pulls the car out of the garage. Then Caffrey takes the seat next to him and they're on their way.

"So, who are the people on the team?" asks Neal after a moment of silence.

"We're quite a small unit, much smaller than the New York White Collar Division," replies Kramer, eyes firmly fixed on the road. "Apart from you and me, there are thirteen other agents. Rarely are all of us present in DC at the same time, though." He takes a pause. "You've already met Melissa Matthews, and you'll probably work closely with Thomas Harrison. He's my second and a specialist when it comes to romanticism and classicism. Then there's Alan Bryant. He studied Egyptology and other ancient cultures before he joined the FBI almost twelve years ago. The scarab that Matthew Keller stole had originally been his case, and there have been rumors of similar thefts and smuggling." He glances at Neal. "Don't be surprised if he wants to talk to you about it."

Neal casts a sharp look at Kramer. "If you're ready to suspect me before I even set a foot into the FBI building here…."

"You're not a suspect," Philip corrects him. "You went undercover as an art restorer and extracted the scarab from the mold before Keller disappeared with it. If nothing else, that means you have first-hand experience with the concealment technique they used. That makes you a witness."

"Ah." Caffrey pauses. "Well, everything important should already be in the case report."

"That may be," concedes Philip. "Nevertheless, the Egyptian authorities are putting a lot of pressure on Bryant to have the amulet returned, not to mention that many other artifacts are also missing."

"And the only one who knows exactly where they are is Keller," says Neal, understanding. "Since he's in coma, Peter, Raquel Laroque and I are now the closest connections to the lost pieces."

"Precisely. Bryant has already talked to Ms. Laroque, so you are the next logical choice."

"I'm not sure if I'll be able to truly help him," says Neal. "It has been two months."

_And with all that's happened, the missing amulet was undoubtedly the last thing on Caffrey's mind,_ thinks Philip. "That's understandable," he says aloud. "I'm sure even Bryant realizes this is a long shot. Still, sometimes you can find your answers if you manage to ask the right questions."

"Don't I know it," mutters Neal.

Kramer wisely decides to leave the remark without comment.

"So that's Bryant," says Caffrey after a pause. "And the others?"

"Ruth Casey, Frank Tyson, Barbara Marks.… You'll get to meet most of them today," says Philip.

"Fair enough," replies Neal. "What about the job's specifics? What do I need to know?"

"You know that we handle art and cultural property crimes. We also educate curators, auction houses, librarians and even private citizens about art theft and security systems. When it comes to our cases, we work worldwide – meaning, we often cooperate with foreign law enforcement agencies, with Interpol, with WCO – that's the World Customs Organization; with UNESCO, with ICOM – the International Council of Museums," he explains before Neal manages to ask, "and those are just a few. We also work with the regional FBI offices and help maintain the NSAF – that's—"

"—the National Stolen Art File," finishes Neal instead of him. "Yes, I've heard of that."

"Good," says Kramer in an attempt to appreciate Caffrey's knowledge instead of thinking too much about how he gained it. "Sometimes our cases take us abroad, occasionally even for a long amount of time."

"Will I get to travel as well?" asks Neal curiously.

Kramer raises his eyebrows as he looks at him.

"Right, not in this lifetime," deflates Caffrey. He sighs. Then he glances at Kramer with mild apprehension.

Kramer tries to guess what's going through Neal's head. Suddenly, his thoughts fly to a rather recent talk with Thomas.

"_Have you actually thought this through, Philip? We both know how our work gets. If you take this guy as your consultant, what will you do when a case demands you spend two or three weeks in Helsinki, Copenhagen or Rome?"_

_Good question, thought Kramer. There was absolutely no way that he would allow Neal to accompany him abroad. But what should he do with Caffrey if something demanded his attention specifically? _

Kramer returns back to the present. "You're my responsibility. We'll deal with it as it comes, but if I absolutely have to leave, then we will find a solution that'll work for both of us."

"That's great," replies Neal with a smile that nevertheless can't hide his guarded skepticism.

Kramer has to suppress a sigh.

He has already decided that he would concentrate more on working from DC and delegate several of his cases to the other agents on his team. It will be good experience for some of them, especially the younger ones. But he knows that there will come occasions when he would rather oversee the situation personally—the truly big cases, cases with political involvement or instances when several experienced agents would be needed.

Still, what if he left Washington only to get a call from his team that Caffrey had disappeared or got himself locked up again? Kramer tells himself that Caffrey has too much to lose to do anything stupid … but that does little to reassure his fears.

Mutual distrust and dubiousness. What a great basis for a work relationship!

They will work it out, Philip tells himself. And the potential makes it worth it. He needs to stop being cynical.

"Crystal City station. We're here," he says instead.

He parks the car. "Let's go get you a card."

o – o – o

When they reach their destination, they barely get a step away from the platform when Kramer's cellphone rings. He takes it out and frowns at the unknown number. "Excuse me," he says to Neal. He scans the surroundings, finds what seems like the calmest place and picks up. "Hello? This is Kramer."

"_Agent Kramer! Are you all right?"_

"Yes – of course I am," replies Philip, surprised. "Who is this?"

"_I'm Richard Kowalski from the U.S. Marshals Office. Neal Caffrey's anklet signal disappeared from our monitoring station a few minutes ago. Do you know where he is?"_

Philip quickly turns in Neal's direction. "He's with me," he replies. "Are you sure that—"

"_Wait!"_ interrupts the voice on the other side of the line_. __"It's back. I don't understand what happened.…"_

Neal listens to their conversation with a perfectly neutral expression.

"_Are you sure that he couldn't have tampered with the anklet?"_

Is he sure? "Caffrey's been with me the whole time since I called you this morning. The problem must be at your end." Kramer pauses. "Could it be because of the underground system?"

"_We'll check it out,"_ promises the man on the other side of the line. _"I'm sorry for the inconvenience,"_he says apologetically.

"Just find out what went wrong and fix it," says Philip. "And please keep me updated on your progress."

"_We'll let you know the moment we know more,"_ says the man and ends their conversation.

Kramer lets out a weary sigh. Then he fixes his eyes on Neal.

"I didn't do anything," says Neal firmly the moment Kramer hangs up. "You know I was with you, and I would hardly do something that stupid without reason. Whatever happened, it's not my fault."

Philip considers him. "Yeah, I believe you're smarter than that," he says after a long pause. "Let's move away from here."

They walk out of the vestibule. Kramer frowns when he notices that he has two missed calls and a message from Thomas. "It seems they're already looking for us," he says with lifted eyebrows.

Neal grimaces. "Way to make a good first impression."

Kramer finds himself chuckling. "I think my team's already impressed enough with you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," answers Caffrey sarcastically.

Kramer's lips twitch in amusement. Then he looks at Neal, and stops. He thinks he detects a rare honesty and a hint of anxiety behind Neal's bold statement, and realizes that for Caffrey, this is quite important.

And it makes sense. Today, the first few days and weeks, will most likely set how things will work on the team now. Philip has his own reservations, but that doesn't mean that Neal should be subjected to the full "agent mode" the first time he walks into the office. He is meant to be the team's co-worker, not a suspect, and the last thing they need now is for Neal's colleagues to wrongly suspect him of tampering with his anklet.

Philip dials a number. "Thomas, I presume the Marshals called you. There was a glitch at their end. Everything's all right. We're on our way."

o – o – o

The elevator clinks, and Neal forces his palms to relax. He oozes calm and confidence, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

_As if he's happy to be here._

The door opens. Time to step into the lion's den.

Kramer steps out of the elevator, and Neal follows half a step behind him.

Sandy-colored walls and glass: those are the first things that hit Neal's eyes. Air conditioning ensures mild temperature and breathable atmosphere. The center of the office is an open space with a labyrinth of cubicles. Several offices around the perimeter probably belong to the senior agents.

In one of the farther cubicles, an agent is scowling as he types on his PC. Closer to them, a woman is shifting through her files while she's talking to someone over her phone. Through another glass door, Neal catches a glimpse of two agents who're talking over an old vase or carafe. He squints and tries to determine what kind of artifact it is, and he almost doesn't notice another agent until he approaches them.

"Hey, Thomas," smiles Kramer in greeting.

"Philip," replies the agent warmly. "It's good to see you again." He then turns to Neal. "And you are—"

"Neal Caffrey, the one and only," says Neal charmingly.

The agent stares at him. "Yes, I know. You've been a suspect in quite a few of our investigations."

He announces it as a fact, without any accusation. However, Neal still feels slightly unnerved by the agent's scrutinizing look.

He smiles. "Well in that case, I hope that my work as part of this unit will overshadow whatever you might have heard of my alleged past."

"I hope so as well," says the agent simply. "I'm Thomas Harrison," he introduces himself and offers Neal his hand. "Welcome to the team."

Harrison's grip is steady and confident. They briefly shake hands.

"Anything new since I've been gone?" asks Kramer then.

"Work or private?" says Thomas with a smile.

"Well, we're at the office, and we probably shouldn't be setting a bad example..."

"All right. The security check at the National Art Museum went well.…"

Neal seizes the opportunity to observe the two men in conversation.

Thomas Harrison is an approximately-fifty-year-old African-American man with short brown hair, taller than average, dressed like a typical FBI agent and well-built for someone who's supposedly spending his days authenticating paintings and shifting through files. No ring on his finger – he's either single, divorced or likes to keep his privacy. Judging by the ease between him and Kramer, Neal realizes Harrison is not only Kramer's second, but they're also good friends.

He is one of the key people Neal will need to win over.

Thomas opens a folder. "We have a new lead on the Spanish coins; Frank is checking it out right now. And the lab has confirmed Barbara's assessment that the Renoir is in fact a forgery."

"So either the initial insurance company has a bad authenticator, or we still haven't found their stolen painting. That couldn't have made the Allstons happy," says Kramer.

Harrison shakes his head. "I checked the authenticator's credentials. It's highly unlikely that he would have missed this." He then closes the folder and handles it to Kramer. "The files are all on your desk, but I think we've kept you pretty much up to date."

"The joys of paperwork await me." Kramer raises his eyebrows ironically. He then turns to Neal. "Well, I guess it's time we set you up."

"Your consultant ID arrived this morning," says Thomas. "I left the envelope in Philip's office."

Neal smiles. "Then let's do it."

o – o – o

"This will be your place," says Philip a few moments later.

"My own cubicle!" exclaims Caffrey cheerfully. "_Exactly_ what I always wanted."

"I'm glad you find it so funny," says Kramer dryly. "Well, your computer is here, a desk lamp, office supplies, a chair.… Hopefully everything should be in order."

"I'm sure it will be," replies Neal confidently. He sits down and leans back in his chair.

_It's something in that expression – suddenly, Philip feels an unexpected stab of a memory, colored with joy, rage and grief.…_

The flash leaves as quickly as it came.

"So, my badge now?" asks Caffrey a moment later and stands up.

Philip nods. "And then we can get you something to work on."

They go to Kramer's office.

There's a small, genuine smile on Neal's face as he picks up the envelope to take out the badge that identifies him as the Bureau's consultant. Then he opens the envelope, and his smile falters.

"This isn't my old badge," says Neal suddenly.

"No, it's not," agrees Philip.

"Well, what's wrong with it? Can't I have it back?"

Philip lifts his eyebrows. "Why the fuss, Caffrey? They told me it's exactly like the old one, except for the photo." He snorts. "Is the picture not good enough for you?"

"Forget it," snaps Neal and trashes the empty envelope.

Seeing Neal's obvious disappointment, Kramer's amusement is slowly replaced with guilt.

He realizes he has somehow pressed a sore point without even intending to.

He sighs. "There was nothing wrong with your old ID. I didn't make that up. But …"

Neal looks at him with a naked question in his eyes.

"Your original one was disposed of after your reincarceration," explains Kramer as kindly as he can. "The Department of Justice issued you this one once your new deal was finalized."

"Oh."

Philip sees an unknown emotion pass Neal's face.

"I wish.…" Caffrey falls silent. He turns the ID around in his hands. He seems smaller somehow, and Philip wonders what's going through his head.

"I guess that sort of makes sense," says Neal finally, a hint of strain in his voice. He puts the ID into the inner pocket of his suit.

Then he looks at Kramer, and he's once again perfectly in control, a smile back on his face.

"So I guess this means I'm all set. Where do I start?"

o – o – o

_He wonders what happened to the old one. Why had it been destroyed? Why had no one stopped it?_

_The question is stupid and childish._

_The photo even looks better. But Neal doesn't want the new ID. He wants his old one back._

_He wants Peter._

o – o – o

"The files are in the file room; your login should have access to all the main databases you might use. If you need something from the Evidence Room, ask an agent," says Kramer as he and Neal are finalizing the last details. Then he hands Neal seven or eight cold case files. "That should be enough to keep you busy. I need to check on the rest of the office. I'll check on your progress later in the day."

Back in his cubicle, Neal begins familiarizing himself with the place. He turns on the computer and checks that it's functioning. He then pushes himself away in the chair and bends down to open the drawers of his desk, only to find a sports bag down there.

_What in the world was it doing there? He _really_ didn't need any trouble on his first day._

Neal sneaks a glance around the office.

From his place, he can see the other cubicles, and he also has an almost clear view of Kramer – as has Kramer on him. Harrison's office at the periphery is also in his range of sight. But right now, nobody is looking his way, so Neal looks back at the bag at his feet.

He bends down and starts searching the closed bag for a sign of whomever it belongs to.

Shortly thereafter, he finds a name tag.

_Barbara Marks._

One of his colleagues that Kramer mentioned this morning.

He glances at Kramer's office, and notices the man is frowning and talking to someone over the phone. Harrison is nowhere to be seen.

More introductions, then.

Neal stands up and walks to a group where three agents – two men and a woman – are talking over a bunch of photographs.

"Hey, guys," he greets them with a smile. "I'm—"

"Neal Caffrey, a professional con man, convicted bond forger, prison escapee and art thief," says one of the agents with a frown.

"That's who I was," replies Neal lightly. "But I was actually going to say I'm looking for Agent Barbara Marks."

"From what I've heard, you also totally screwed over your old team, got your boss's wife kidnapped and him nearly sacked," continues the agent flatly, ignoring Neal's remark.

Neal feels the air sucked out of his lungs. "Look, I—"

"Yes, I've heard. You said you were _sorry_." The agent shakes his head. "People like you often say that when they run out of options."

"Frank, drop it," snaps the female agent before she turns to Neal. "I'm Kristin Parker. Barbara should be by the file room."

But Neal doesn't accept her redirection.

He somehow manages to swallow the huge fluffy ball in his neck and adopt a steady tone. "I've made some mistakes, with grave consequences. And I am trying to own up to them. What happened between me and my friends is frankly none of your business. They forgave me, and I'll never stop being grateful for that." He stares at the other agent. "Is that enough for you, or do you have another problem with me?"

A highly uncomfortable silence follows.

"I'm Allan Bryant." The third agent speaks suddenly. "I've heard that you and Burke attempted to recover the Narmer scarab."

_And he thought the conversation couldn't turn any worse. _"That's right."

"I would like your consult on that case."

Damn.

Neal somehow manages to pull off a smile. "I'll help any way I can."

"I'll see you about it later, then," replies Allan. Then the group slips back into silence.

Neal clears his throat. "Well, I guess I'll go find Barbara now."

"The file room is down the hall on the left side by the entrance," says Kristin Parker. "What do you want with her anyway?" she asks curiously.

"She forgot some stuff in my cubicle," says Neal and goes to find the other agent.

Behind his back, he hears as the talk resumes and the agents once again turn their attentions to the photographs on the desk.

o – o – o

"Thank you," says Barbara Marks when she comes with Neal to his cubicle. Neal pulls up her bag and puts it on the clear space on his desk.

Barbara shakes her head. "I totally forgot about it. See, your workspace hadn't belonged to anyone for quite a while, so everyone just got used to leaving their things here. Random stuff, you know – office supplies, umbrellas, a package of cat food.… I think someone even left a Christmas tree here once. I put my bag here this morning before they installed your computer. I didn't realize.…" She goes silent.

"It's okay," says Neal and offers her a small smile.

So far, Barbara is the youngest – and possibly the friendliest – face he has seen in the office. She's approximately his age, although she apparently isn't a probie anymore. Brown-haired, brown-eyed, tanned and slender, she seems almost delicate; when Neal first caught a glimpse of her at her desk, sketching a portrait of a suspect, he hadn't even realized that she was also one of the agents.

"Do you think you could maybe show me around here a bit?" he asks, hoping to form at least one connection today. "Is there a kitchen somewhere? I could do with some coffee.…"

"It's in the corridor opposite from the file room," says Barbara. "I need to get back to my work. Thanks for this," she says and picks up her bag.

"No problem," calls Neal after her, but she has already turned around and is walking away.

Neal feels a wave of frustration. Barbara might be friendly, but it's clear that she doesn't trust him – just like everybody else around here.

He had expected this. He'd known that these people might have already made up their private image of him. But – well, he hoped that reality would prove him wrong.

Neal can't believe he thinks this, but – it might not be a completely bad thing that Kramer has forbidden him from any undercover assignments for the time being. At this point, he can't be sure any of these people would have his back.

He straightens his shoulders, takes off his jacket and sits down on his chair.

He opens the first file on his desk and starts to read.

An old wooden carved clock had been stolen almost three years ago from a private owner. The cops and ACT suspected an inside job, but there had been no proof, and the clock hasn't been seen since.

Neal reads through the rest of the file. When he finishes, he goes to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. Then he returns to the file, starts his own research and begins connecting the dots.…

o – o – o

Later, Kramer stops by Neal's desk.

"I might have a lead on this case," Neal informs him, frowning at the computer screen in concentration and scrolling down a website while he makes notes on paper with his other hand. "Your file says the clock had been replaced by an imitation, but one or two of the family members couldn't even tell the difference at first glance. Which got me thinking, how long had it actually been missing? According to the statements, some of the family had been gone for two weeks until about three days before the theft was reported. So the clock might have been stolen earlier than you actually suspected."

"Hmm.…" Kramer flips through the file. "It seems unlikely nobody would have noticed the replacement earlier," he says thoughtfully, "but go on."

"Right," says Neal. "I looked back into the people you questioned and checked the people who had access to the real clock the two months before the theft. Your file says there was a party.…"

"The family throws a lot of those," says Kramer dismissively. "We checked the guest list, but nothing came up."

"Well, maybe nothing came up at that time. However.…" Neal picks up his notepad and turns a page back to reveal a list of names. "I crossed out the family's usual friends, guests, people who had had opportunity before.… The list got shorter after that. I thought there was something off with this guy – Adam Hess. I couldn't put my finger on it … so I did my research on him. And it turns out, the man has a rather interesting hobby."

He turns the screen of his computer and shows Kramer Hess's facebook page.

Kramer's expression changes when he sees the section that Neal has highlighted.

"So Hess is into woodworking.… You've begun to pique my interest."

"And he's quite good at it," continues Neal. "His girlfriend couldn't resist bragging about Hess's talent and posted a picture." He clicks on another window and reveals a beautifully carved cat statue.

"You're right. This is good work," says Kramer with appreciation. "If he was this good three years ago—"

"He could have forged the clock," says Neal. "He also has the connections to sell it. He was ruled out as a suspect before because he had no contact with the other people between when we thought the theft had occurred and the rumor from one of the CIs that the clock had been sold to a private collector. But if the theft occurred earlier—"

"Then the timeline changes. There might have been a window we missed," says Kramer in realization. He places his hands on Neal's desk, leans forward and starts flipping through the file again. As inconspicuously as possible, Neal rolls himself away in his chair to regain his personal space.

"One of our suspects for the inside person was the cleaning woman. If the clock had truly been replaced earlier, there's no way she wouldn't have noticed," says Kramer after a moment. "The time gap would also explain why nothing was found at her place when we served the warrant."

"She had opportunity, motive, and she left the family to go to college afterwards – and to a rather expensive one," says Neal.

Kramer falls into silence. "This is all nice," he says finally. "But until we actually prove a connection between Hess and ..." he looks down at the file "... _Anita_, it's only another of the dozen theories that come with this case."

Neal nods. "I know. I've been trying to find a connection between them, or at least find out where exactly Hess was during the two weeks before the theft was reported—"

"No need," Kramer interrupts him. He straightens himself and picks up the file. "I'll pass this to someone on the team. You can look at the other cases."

Neal feels something like disbelief. "What – you're not letting me finish this?"

"The case occurred in New Haven," says Kramer. "Obviously, you can't go interview our suspects, so there's no reason for you to spend any more time on it now that we have a solid lead."

What? Why couldn't he— damn it.

Shaken to the core, Neal realizes that for a few seconds, he'd been thinking as if he was still in New York.

In the new context, Kramer's announcement makes sense. However, Neal can't stop his bitterness, knowing that he just spent two hours digging up long-lost information, only to then be taken off the case when it finally began to come together. He feels angered, disappointed and strangely betrayed.

It wouldn't have mattered if the place wasn't so close to New York. But this – this was like planning a heist, only to have your accomplice suddenly tell you that he didn't need you and cutting you out.

"I have a good feeling about this," says Kramer, once again looking at the file. He finally closes it and looks at Neal. "Do you have anything else for me?"

"Not yet," replies Neal. "I was busy with this, and – I'll get to the rest of it now."

Unexpectedly, Kramer smiles. "This is impressive, Caffrey. It's not every day that we have a breakthrough in a cold case. I'm curious what you can find in the rest of them." He pauses. "If you need something, I'll be in my office.

"Yes, sir." Neal smiles back and maintains a calm face until Kramer walks away. Once Kramer's out of sight, he puts his elbows on his desk and buries his face in his hands.

He can't let this get to him.

He releases a deep breath and gets himself together. He picks up a pen and starts twirling it in his fingers as he opens another file.

o – o – o

It's late in the afternoon when Kramer hears someone entering his office. He looks up from the files and sees Thomas.

"How's it going?" asks Thomas and indicates the case files that are spread all over Philip's desk.

Kramer pushes a file away and tiredly falls back in his chair. "I've been on this for more than three hours, and I've barely made a dent. This is what I hate about long-term assignments."

Thomas pulls up a chair and sits down opposite Kramer. "You can escape the files for a while—"

"—but the moment you return, it's payback time and the paperwork will try to smother you," finishes Kramer and rubs his forehead. "At least you and Ruth kept these in order, or I would still be going through them at Christmas. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," says Thomas simply.

Philip glances through the glass and sees Neal at his desk, working on something at his computer. He looks back at Thomas. "So, what do you think of Caffrey? Any first impressions?"

"Well, he's certainly charming," says Thomas. "He's smart … engaging. Otherwise, I barely met him. It's too soon to make any conclusions." He pauses. "Before you arrived today, the Marshals called that his anklet signal had disappeared … what was that about?"

"The Marshals are still pondering that, but it seems that the problem was the Metro system – being underground," explains Philip. "They said they'll try to fix the software and promised the situation shouldn't occur again."

"So it truly wasn't Caffrey's fault," says Thomas in comprehension. "That's some tough luck. When you called, I did my best to calm down everyone who heard about the complication.… Hopefully it was fast enough to stop any rumors."

"I can't deal with this now," says Philip as he feels a headache forming. "Do you think it will become an issue?"

"Not compared to the other stuff that speaks against him." Thomas pauses. "Everything going well so far?"

"More or less."

Thomas hesitates. "If you need something—"

"I know," interrupts him Kramer. "I appreciate it."

They stare at each other for a moment.

"All right," says Thomas and stands up. Kramer stands up as well, relieved that the mushy moment is now behind them. "Want to go hang out after work?"

"I can't," says Philip with a sigh. "Have to keep an eye on Neal."

Thomas halts in his movement. "Philip … I understand you're being careful, but you can't spend all your time at home, watching him."

"No, I … It's just until things settle down a bit," says Kramer reluctantly. "A temporary adjustment period."

Thomas gives him a skeptical look.

Philip takes a deep breath. "What about next weekend? Maybe Saturday?"

"I can't," shakes his head Thomas. "I have my kids over."

"Right, I didn't realize."

Suddenly, Thomas's phone buzzes with an alert message. He pulls it out and checks it. "I have to go," he says a moment later. "I have a meeting with one of our CIs about the missing Renoir."

"Good luck, then," says Kramer and watches his friend leave.

He once again looks at Caffrey. Then he returns back to the mountain of paperwork at his desk.

o – o – o

It's past eleven in the evening and Neal is back in his apartment.

If he were at June's, he would open a bottle of wine, sit outside on the terrace and enjoy the calm of the cool summer evening. Maybe June or Mozzie would have joined him there and kept him company.

Instead of wine, he has a bottle of beer. He is alone. In the dim glow of one of the kitchen lights, he sees the water drops on the dishes in the plate-basket.

They'd grocery shopped. Thanks to that, dinner was a Kramer-free affair. Neal enjoyed the cooking, even though it took him a while to find some of the kitchen utensils.

The afternoon at the office had been long, and not what Neal had expected. Instead of being thrown into the middle of things, he spent hours working alone on cases with very little contact with the FBI agents. He felt – isolated, and that was even worse than facing the suspicions of his new colleagues.

At least Kramer seemed happy with his work.

"_You've done well on your first day," he had said on their way home. "Keep it up."_

Neal wearily runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

He wants to call someone, but it's late, and he doesn't think anyone would appreciate a call at this hour.

After some hesitation, Neal turns on his laptop and begins typing the message that seems easiest.

.

_ Hey, June,_

_ It's been one day, and I'm already imagining being back at your place.…_

_.  
_

The words flow easily as Neal types, and more often than not he finds himself smiling as he remembers his former landlady.

The message to Peter and Elizabeth feels much harder. Neal can't believe it was only yesterday when he reconciled with Peter. The farewell at their house feels like weeks ago.

Finally, he turns the laptop off and leaves the kitchen.

Later, in his bedroom, Neal opens the window. He notices the stars in the sky, and stills. With something akin to melancholy, he realizes it's been a long time since he last saw stars, as the lights of New York masked them quite well, not to mention prison, where he couldn't even see a skyline.

Neal wishes he could go outside and observe them.

Instead, he leaves the window slightly ajar and goes to sleep.

* * *

_A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated. _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry for the long wait since the last chapter. My life has completely taken over; things have become so demanding that my writing time has been reduced almost to nothing. As I've said before, this is a work in progress – I fully intend to complete it, but sadly I can't guarantee you when the next update will be. Anyway, thank you for your patience – and here is the chapter._

_One again, I need to thank __**Mam711**__ for beta-read and __**NovemberLeaving**__ for cheerleading and for simply being a friend. Please, enjoy!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 4 – FORGING FRIENDSHIPS **

"More paperwork today?" asks Neal the next morning while Philip looks for a parking place near the Metro station.

"It's part of the job, Caffrey. Not everything about FBI work is glamorous and fascinating," replies Kramer in a lecturing mode as he stares into the back mirror and considers the distance between the two nearby cars.

"Ah, yes. Mortgage fraud. Stakeouts. Bad coffee."

Kramer lifts an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with our coffee?"

"Oh no. It's delicious. Better than the office average."

And Caffrey could be selling toothpaste with that smile. What's the big deal with coffee anyway?

Philip clears his throat. "Don't try to sell it too hard."

Neal gives him another wide smile. "I wouldn't dare."

Something about the exchange feels … off. An alarm bell goes off in Kramer's mind. However, before he asks Neal about it, he realizes he has nothing but a vague feeling. Deciding to remain silent but keep his eyes open, he parks the car and turns it off. They have a job to do after all.

o – o – o

Standing in the Metro station, Neal feels someone's eyes on him. He quickly scans his surroundings and realizes that the attention is coming from a pretty woman a few feet away from him. He grins at her, and she blushes and looks away before she meets his eyes again. Neal tips his hat at her, and slowly, the woman smiles back.

Their wordless interaction is interrupted when the woman's cell phone buzzes. Turning away, she picks up and answers the incoming call.

_What did she see when she looked at him? _Neal wonders. Did she realize that he was only allowed in public when accompanied by his handler? Could she tell he and Kramer were a convicted felon and his FBI watchdog?

_Easy. Just stay calm._

When their train arrives, Neal boards it with the rest of the people, leaving the nameless girl still on the platform talking to her phone. With one hand, he grabs a pole; the other one he buries deep in his pocket, as if to show to Kramer: _'__See? Nothing nefarious going on there.'_

Behind his calm exterior, Neal is silently seething.

His glance passes across the passengers. They are all supposed to be equals. In reality, though … how do you measure the gap created by their assets, by age, by education and origins … by their pasts?

Of course, a good con could wipe away almost all of these differences. Maybe that was part of what drove so many confidence men to The Life … that by sleight of hand, you could completely change the board. Some cleverly dropped hints, a few well-chosen words and the world would brighten up with a new shine—at least until the jig was up and you had to come up with a new scheme.

_Was he turning philosophical now? And did it matter?_

After he's accepted the anklet, the radius, the curfew and supervision and having _no control of any tiny aspect of his life_, his current burst of anger has caught Neal by surprise.

It began this morning, when Kramer called the Marshals to tell them that they were leaving his house. Neal then learned that he would call them again when they reached the office; then again when they were about to leave, and again as they got "home". In short, a workday would mean at least four phone calls to the Marshals' office, simply to ensure that "Neal George Caffrey, FBI consultant" wouldn't pull another of his famous escapes.

"_You have a radius around my house and another around the FBI building," Kramer had explained. "They're not connected." _

Neal was trying to be realistic about his arrangement. But this, this ... _ridiculousness_, accompanied by the oh-so-rational arguments—

He hadn't fully comprehended it yesterday. Maybe because he didn't want to understand, didn't want to face this new reality.

Is he some precious box to be shuffled around? Is he a murderer? Is he a psychotic arsonist, a mob boss or a terrorist, anything that would warrant this new degree of humiliation?

_Easy. Take another breath._

Neal had realized right after Kramer's statement that he could not let this become a problem, especially not with this arrangement still being so fragile and uncertain. And so he decided to smile and pretend that it was okay. Better yet, he should make himself believe it.

'_You could be in prison,'_ says an internal voice that sounds like Peter in a bossy mood.

'Or_, you could be on a tropical island,'_ counters Mozzie-voice forcefully.

'_And you could both just shut up,'_ retorts Neal and focuses on the reality of the Metro train.

Finally, they arrive at the right station.

When they reach the FBI building, Neal leans against the receptionist's counter, smiles, fools around with his hat and chats with the receptionist while he waits for Kramer to make the other phone call.

When it's done, he goes back to the cold cases.

o – o – o

Two hours later, Neal puts away a file and tiredly rubs at his face.

Nothing. There was absolutely no clue, no lead … just three sheets of paper and a few photos that held no answers.

If he were in New York, he could ask Mozzie or his net of street contacts. If he was a trusted member of the team, he could do some proper research himself. If this was a fresh case, he could go see the crime scene, or at least ask the agents in charge to check out a few things for him. If—

Well, he'll just have to make do with what he has.

Neal goes through the information once more, grimacing at the ugly flashy statue posing as "art". However, in the end, he has to admit defeat. With a bit of unease, he puts the file away to turn to the other case for which he couldn't find any new clues. With his work yesterday, this makes the score three out of six so far … but then, these are cold cases. Surely nobody can expect him to work a miracle there.

He perks up a tiny bit when he realizes that the next case concerns one of his favorite artists. However, after casting a quick glance around the office, he suddenly stands up, deciding that it's the perfect time to take a break.

"Hey," he says cheerfully in greeting when he meets Kristin Parker by the water cooler.

"Morning, Caffrey," says Kristin and bends down to pour herself a cup of water.

"So how's your case going? The Toyen painting?" he elaborates when the agent gives him a blank look.

Kristin tilts her head and narrows her eyes. "How do you know about that?"

Neal gave her a small smile. "I recognized it from the picture."

"Well, you know your painters." She stands up when her cup is full. "Have a nice day."

"Kristin, wait!" calls Neal to stop her. She turns around to face him.

"What is it?" she asks with a hint of annoyance.

Well, at least she didn't object to him calling her by her first name. "Look … thanks for yesterday, for standing up for me with the other agent."

"I didn't "stand up" for you, Caffrey," says Kristin firmly.

"Neal. Please. My name is Neal."

"Right, Neal. I didn't stand up for you. I just don't think it's right to kick someone who's already been beaten."

"Be it as it may, you still ran interference for me," says Neal honestly. He then puts on a charming smile and hands her a miniature paper tulip that he managed to fold together over the course of their short conversation. "So thank you. I really appreciate it."

Kristin gives him a half amused, half irritated look. "You know what? Instead of trying to flirt with me, why don't you get back to your work?"

"Cold cases," says Neal with a grimace.

"Ah."

"I worked on them the whole afternoon yesterday, and I have enough to last me through the whole week," says Neal, hoping for a bit of sympathy.

"Well, then maybe when you prove yourself, Kramer will trust you with something more interesting," replies Kristin with a shrug. She turns the tulip around in her fingers before she places it on top of the water cooler.

Neal clears his throat. "Right. I guess that's a clue that I should return to my missing cubist sketch."

"I guess you're right," replies Kristin and turns around.

"Good day to you too," calls Neal after her. Then he releases a mental sigh, pour himself his own cup of water and returns to the files at his desk.

o – o – o

"Here's the report on the Myckijewitz case," says Bryant and lays it on Kramer's desk.

"Thank you," replies Kramer. He pauses when he realizes that Bryant isn't leaving. "What is it?"

"I want Caffrey's assistance with the robberies from the Egyptian museums."

Straight to the point. Then again, Bryant was never one for beating around the bush.

Philip is torn between a smile and a sigh. "You don't have any leads," he points out. "You've been on this case for two months. You still think it will go somewhere?"

"I haven't talked to Caffrey yet," replies Bryant. "You said I could keep the case if I found anything at least resembling a lead."

"That's true." They've had this conversation several times before.

Bryant was known for extreme patience and thoroughness, and he often pursued cases that others would have given up on long ago. Sometimes, his diligence paid off; other times, Kramer felt exasperated when it seemed that his team was a man short because Bryant was too wrapped up in investigating some vague rumors from the most unreliable sources.

No, that wasn't right. Allan always knew how to split his attention between their current cases and one of his own private projects.

"It'll give Caffrey a break from the cold cases," adds Bryant.

Kramer takes a sip of his coffee, seemingly considering the request. In fact, he has been expecting it, and even welcomed it to a degree. Bryant is level-headed and sharp; Philip doesn't fear that he'll get wrapped up in one of Neal's schemes easily. At the same time, he is also Kramer's second best researcher. Finally, while Neal's insight on the cold cases was valuable, ultimately Kramer wants him to work with the rest of the team. This is as good a starting point as any.

"I was actually thinking the same thing," he says at last. "Fine. Talk to Neal, see if you can find something. This would be an important win for the Bureau."

And Kramer really wants to shut up that Egyptian diplomat with his haughty look and his veiled insults about the FBI's incompetence.

"We'll be on it."

"Hey, Allan, by the way," Philip stops him as Bryant turns around to leave. "How are the preparations going?"

For the first time since he entered his office, Bryant smiles. "Well it's … yes, it's fine. Maddie finally chose her dress last week."

"That's great," says Philip warmly.

"I know." There's a small pause before Bryant asks, "Is there anything else?"

"No, no. That's all."

Kramer watches as Bryant goes to Neal's desk. He observes their brief interaction before they both get up and head into the conference room. Then he shakes his head and returns to his work.

o – o – o

Another case file later, Neal once again finds himself longing for the warmth and camaraderie of the New York office. His first impulse is to call Peter, or maybe even Diana or Jones—but then he remembers that Peter is supposed to be working on a case that might have him going undercover.

He tries to focus on the file in front of him, a theft of a rare French poetry book. He skims through the first two pages before the frustration comes back full-force. In an impulse and with a slight feeling of apprehension, he dials Elizabeth's number and waits for her to pick up.

"_Hi Neal,"_ says El a moment later.

Just hearing her voice fills Neal with a wave of happiness. "Elizabeth," he says softly. "How are you?"

"_I'm fine, thank you. Shouldn't I be asking you that question instead? Is everything all right?"_

"I'm fine," Neal replies. "Settling in, dealing with old cases … and missing all of you terribly. How's Peter?"

Neal swears he can hear Elizabeth smile. _"Peter's doing okay..."_

"... but?" asks Neal at the unfinished statement.

"_My parents are coming over this weekend. I think my Dad freaks Peter out a bit."_

"Really? Why is that?"

"_Well, he's—yes, the blue ones.… And the dahlias.… No, that's not—Wait a moment. Neal—"_

"Bad moment, I get it." He tries to keep his tone light. "How about Skype tonight?"

"_I'm sorry, I have an event,"_ says Elizabeth with genuine regret. _"What about tomorrow?"_

"Sounds great."

"_Good."_ El pauses. _"Look—"_

"I understand, you need to go. Have a great day, Elizabeth."

"_You too, Neal. It's been nice talking to you."_

"You as well."

After Elizabeth hangs up, Neal turns his attention once more to the case at hand.

_Item: A book of poems from 1857; first edition Baudelaire in original. Stolen from a private home in Idaho seven years ago. Suspects.…_

"Hey, Caffrey. Do you have a moment?"

Neal looks up from the file and looks at the man at the entrance to his cubicle.

_Unremarkable face, short blondish hair, blue eyes, over forty, short but robust frame.…_ They were introduced yesterday, Neal realizes, and he thanks his memory as the name jumps into his head almost instantly….

"Agent Bryant. What can I do for you?"

"May I take a look?" asks the agent and motions to the documents on Neal's desk.

Neal shrugs. "Be my guest," he says and hands him the open folder.

Bryant carefully accepts the file. "_Fleurs du mal__. _Redefining beauty." He slowly turns the pages. "I remember this case."

Neal nods. "Baudelaire did a lot to change the world of poetry, and he inspired many who came after him.… The government actually put him on trial for immorality a month after this book first came out, and six of his poems were banned from being published until after the Second World War."

"So I've heard. He was an interesting character," replies Bryant. He then returns the file to Neal. "If you're not too busy, I would like to talk to you about the Egyptian artifacts."

Oh great.

"Sure, why not?" replies Neal.

"Excellent. Let's take this to the conference room."

Neal closes the folder and puts on an interested face, masking a feel of unease.

If this were any other case, he would have been happy for the distraction, as even an exceptional poet like Baudelaire couldn't take away the hollowness of Neal's isolation. However, any interrogation about the scarab that mysteriously "disappeared" after Neal's meeting with Keller could raise questions that he'd rather remained unanswered.

'_Well, my friend, there's no need to cry when the milk hasn't been spilled yet!'_

Neal suppresses a hint of a smile. _'Sure, Mozzie.'_

The conference room looks almost like a copy of the one in New York, except for the sandy walls and furniture that is a paler shade of gray. Neal drops himself into a comfortable chair on the long side of the table, and Bryant takes the seat at the head beside him, a portfolio and a pen laid loosely in his lap.

"So what do you want to know?" asks Neal with an air of ease.

"You worked on the case with the scarab that turned up in Manhattan."

"That's right."

The agent pulls out a file. "I have here your original report from that case."

Neal leans back in his chair with a confident expression. "Great. In that case, it should all be there―"

"It's not," Bryant interrupts him. "You left out or changed most of your confrontation with Keller. I've read the transcript from your confession," he adds as an afterthought.

Damn.

'_So much for the milk.'_

"If you've seen the transcript, then you can certainly understand why I'm not exactly fond of that case," says Neal seriously.

Bryant gives him a barely noticeable nod. "I do. I still need your report."

Clearly, there is no way that Neal can avoid this particular conversation. "Right." He straightens himself in the chair. "As you know, about two months ago, we heard rumors about Keller. We knew he had stolen some artifacts from Egyptian museums.…"

o – o – o

Imagine a dance. A dance on ice so thin that it might break before your feet even touch it, and the only way to get through is to dance so fast that you reach the shore before the crack swallows you and you drown in the icy water.

That's what some cons feel like.

Neal soon finds out that Agent Bryant is a good listener. Such a quality is invaluable in a friend. Of course, it's much less appreciated when he's on the bad side of the interrogation table.

"How did you contact Laroque?" asks Bryant, scribbling down a note.

"It was arranged by a friend." At Bryant's questioning gaze, Neal elaborates. "Hale. He was a fence.… Keller killed him when Hale wouldn't give him the information he wanted."

A pause.

"I'm sorry," says the agent sincerely. Neal's eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you," he says at last.

A few seconds pass before Bryant moves on to the next question.

They go over his meeting with Raquel. At one point, Neal actually enjoys himself as he describes Raquel's concealment smuggling technique. Judging by his insightful remarks, Bryant has obviously heard about similar things before. He has Neal describe the technique and the restoration process in great detail, and for a short moment they connect over their mutual knowledge of Egyptian pharaohs.

"Do you believe that Menes and Narmer were the same person?" asks Neal.

"The Narmer Palette would suggest so," replies Bryant thoughtfully. "But the history of the Old Kingdom has always been hazy. Most of our information comes from the much more recent Ptolemaic era. Still, the ancient texts name Menes as the king of both Lower and Upper Egypt, making him the first true pharaoh."

"Yet the Palette tells a different story," objects Neal with only half-feigned interest. "It clearly shows Narmer as the sovereign of the two kingdoms, defeating his enemies. And then there are the two lions with their necks intertwined, forced together by two serpents. That's a pretty strong symbol, if you ask me."

"True. And the Palette is the reason why some experts believe Narmer and Menes to be the same person." Bryant pauses. "You know a lot about this," he notes questioningly.

Neal smiles. "I just dabble, really. I like art and history. When we initially got this case, I wanted to find out more." _Not to mention the extensive research for one of his earliest cons that had him pose as a scientist to get close to a certain ancient piece._

Has he noticed a flicker of disappointment?

"It's fascinating though," adds Neal casually. "The things that the Egyptians did; the legacy they left.… The things they managed in art, mathematics, architecture and literature.…"

"It's more than that," says Bryant suddenly with a small smile. "Egypt was the first truly centralized civilization. Their society was very mature and well organized. They had laws, administration, advanced trade with their neighbors.… Their agriculture was very progressive, as they studied the seasons and used highly functional irrigation to balance the periods of floods and the times of drought. Not to mention their fascinating religion and mythology. When thinking of Egypt, people often forget that, with some breaks and times of unrest, Ancient Egypt existed for more than three millennia, and each of the periods had its specifics." He takes a long pause. "But that was a long time ago. Let's get back to our case."

_Interesting_, thinks Neal. For someone who has officially abandoned archeology, the agent still seemed rather fond of the subject. Deep down, he smiles. Someday soon, they will talk in depth about mummification, sculpture and ancient Egypt's lifestyle. Allan Bryant seems a bit too serious, but there is also a sense of calm around him that is almost soothing. Neal thinks he might eventually come to like him.

"So what happened to the scarab after Matthew Keller arrived?"

"I am not sure," says Neal with a grimace. "With Keller there and two people waving guns around, the scarab stopped being a priority. Then after Raquel left, Keller attempted to trick me into leading him to the treasure. The scarab must have gotten lost in between."

"So you have no idea who took it?" asks Bryant with a penetrating look.

_He knows_, thinks Neal. Then he realizes that _no, he doesn't. He only suspects at this point._

Someday, he might come to trust Allan Bryant.

He looks into the agent's eyes and sighs. "No. I'm sorry. I wish I could be more help."

But not today.

Bryant gives him a slow nod. "I understand." A pause. "I know it's been a while, but I need you to try to remember what exactly happened in that room."

"Sure," says Neal with a smile and begins to carefully craft a story.

o – o – o

At last they finish talking about the goddamned scarab and move to the safer waters of art smuggling. They trade ideas as they consider the possible whereabouts of the rest of the artifacts, until Bryant finally says that it's enough for now. With a glance at his watch, he announces that it's time for lunch.

"Would you like to join us?" he asks as he arranges the files and notes together into a neat stack.

"'Us?'"

"Me and Barbara."

"Sure," says Neal with a grin. Then he turns serious. "Oh. Are you going out?"

"No, the cafeteria is in the building."

"Well, then there shouldn't be a problem."

"Good. I'll put these away and then we can go."

Bryant drops off his files and they pick up Barbara at her cubicle. Unfortunately, at that precise moment an agent Neal hasn't met yet asks for Bryant's help. He promises to be back in five minutes and leaves them alone in the middle of the office.

"So," begins Neal, to break the awkward silence between them. "What interesting cases are you working on?"

"Oh, you know. Cases. Nothing special right now." Barbara takes a short pause. "So! Do you like the DC office?"

An unexpected ache hits Neal full-force. He blinks and plasters on a full-blown Caffrey smile.

"It's great! Everything's fine. I'm settling down; learning my way around here…. No Christmas trees in my cubicle yet, by the way," he says with a smirk, and Barbara chuckles. "Anyway, I've been going over some cold cases, and right now I'm working on a case with Bryant."

"Allan's a great guy," says Barbara with a brief smile. Then she turns serious. "Is that the Egyptian art case?"

"That's the one."

"Hmm." A pause. "So you're helping Allan then? What exactly do you do? Being a consultant and all that…."

_And it's gone again_, Neal mentally sighs as the fractional almost-shared moment is lost and replaced by a mix of guarded curiosity and suspicion.

"Well, part of my job is to provide insight; a new point of view," replies Neal in a friendly tone. "I also have some contacts, though obviously that was mostly back in New York, and I used to go undercover quite often."

"Used to…? Well, I guess it makes sense, with all the, you know.…" Barbara falters.

"You mean my involvement with the stolen art," says Neal openly. "And you're right; it hasn't exactly put me on the FBI most trusted list." He takes a brief pause before he smiles. "So! Tell me. How is the food in the FBI cafeteria?"

But before he can find out whether his blatant diversion worked, they are mercifully interrupted by Bryant's return.

"It's all resolved. Sorry it took me so long." Bryant straightens his jacket and looks at both of them. "Let's have lunch."

o – o – o

When they get to the cafeteria, it is already full of people. The room is filled with the clinks of cutlery touching plates and with low chatter. Judging by its overall appearance, it has been refurbished sometime in the past few years. With walls and tables painted in bland blue and yellow and with some neutral posters around, it looked every bit the typical cafeteria—the type of establishment that Neal generally tried to avoid, he thinks with an internal wince. Yet as he stands in line with Bryant and Barbara, he is secretly more disturbed by all the stares at himself than by the quality of the establishment.

Even though most of the people are simply focusing on their food or maybe come from different departments, it seems that a quite a few of the agents have recognized him. Some of their glances are of harmless curiosity; however, Neal can feel the hair on his neck stand up at several glares of scoffing and contempt. Rather than acknowledging them, he holds his head high and casually engages in conversation with his companions by bringing up the relatively safe topic of their case. Bryant, while not extremely talkative, plays along with him enough to keep the conversation flowing, and despite her obvious reluctance, Barbara eventually begins to chip in as well. Five minutes later, they at last reach the counter.

'_Wow. What a number of… _interesting_ options.'_

With slightly apprehensive curiosity, Neal eventually picks a steak with French fries and some mysterious reddish sauce and hopes for the best.

"Try the soup as well," says Barbara suddenly.

"The soup?"

"Uh-huh."

Neal dubiously stares at the thick brown liquid with onions and slimy somethings floating around. "You know, I don't think I'm really a soup guy—"

"Try it," Barbara urges him. She smiles. "Come on! It's delicious. Besides, you can't work here in DC without tasting the cafeteria's famous mushroom soup!"

Mushrooms. That at least explains the slimy bits.

Barbara is staring at him expectantly, while Bryant's expression is completely unreadable. Looking at the unappealing dish, it doesn't take a genius to figure this out.

And he had thought that this sort of joke belonged only in high school.

Neal smiles. "Well, if you're having it as well.…"

"Ah—well I'd love to, but I really shouldn't. The mushrooms are a bit heavy on my stomach."

_There are so many ways to reply to that.…_

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Somebody behind them clears their throat, indicating that they should move. In a split-second decision, Neal adds the soup to his tray.

'_Let's see what we're dealing with here.'_

o – o – o

"Well?" asks Barbara a few minutes later.

"Hmm. Yeah, it's.… " Neal eats another spoonful. "_Wow_. That's bad."

"Are you saying you don't like our soup?"

"I'm saying you tried to set me up," replies Neal with a smirk.

"Judging by your own standards?"

"I'd never dare." He pushes the soup bowl away and begins to eat his steak.

"You're not going to eat that?" Bryant speaks suddenly and gestures vaguely to the soup.

"Ummm … no, I don't think so. Why, you want it?"

"If you don't mind."

"No, not at all."

"Ah. Sorry, Allan," apologizes Barbara with a barely hidden spark of glee. She turns to Neal and speaks in a low voice. "He _hates_ to see food go to waste."

"Actually, I happen to like this soup," replies Bryant as he takes the bowl from Neal.

"That's because you're weird," says Barbara.

"So you keep telling me."

"How can you actually _like_ that stuff? It looks like it's already been eaten once. That should clearly be a crime."

"Guys.…" starts Neal.

Bryant smiles. "Thanks, Barb. But you already talked Caffrey into buying it, so now you have to suffer through watching me eat it."

"Yeah, I gathered it might come to that. You know, you never appreciate the things I do for you."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare to slight your sacrifice."

"Wait a second." Neal looks from one to the other with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Have you both actually just conned me?"

"No, that was purely Barbara's doing," says Bryant. "I just happened to get my favorite soup out of it."

"Well, nice effort." With a smile, Neal raises his plastic cup of water and makes a small nod in Barbara's direction.

Barbara's own smile fades away. "Yeah, I guess you'd be an expert on these things."

Neal feels like his mouthful has just turned into something sickening.

They continue eating in tense silence. For a moment, the only sounds coming from their table are the clinks of their utensils. Neal listens to the conversation around the other tables and inconspicuously watches his surroundings. A moment later he almost freezes when he realizes what he's doing—assessing sources of danger and searching for escape paths. He swallows another piece of his steak and secretly wishes that this be over as soon as possible, so he can get back to his work.

To the cold cases. And then the cramped apartment in the evening.

"Why did you do it anyway?"

"Excuse me?"

Barbara repeats the question. "Why did you do it? All of it."

"Barbara. This isn't the time or place for an interrogation. Let Caffrey enjoy his meal in peace."

For yet another time that day, Neal feels appreciation for Bryant's quiet yet firm intervention.

"Why not?" asks Barbara, though she lowers her voice a bit. "Sorry, Caffrey, but how can we work together when I don't know a thing about you?"

"I thought it was the opposite that was the problem," says Neal sarcastically.

Barbara turns to Bryant. "I mean, I just don't get it. I've seen Caffrey's forgeries, and they were amazing! He copied some of the masters so well that even I or Kramer couldn't tell the difference for sure and had to ask a lab for confirmation." She looks back at Neal. "You have true talent, Caffrey, so why are you wasting it on some petty crimes when you could be doing your own work? And it's not just that. You and Burke were a great team, and then you betrayed him, and then you suddenly changed your mind again? What the hell happened? I just—I don't understand. How could you do that to your people? And how can you steal and—"

"Enough."

Bryant's voice cuts through the air like a sharp razor.

"Wow," speaks Neal when he finally finds his voice. "I get you really don't like my life choices." It has been a while since he's been insulted and complimented like that at the same time.

His steak only half-eaten, he puts down his fork and knife and stands up. "Well, I think I'm done here. Agent Bryant, if there is anything else I can do to help you with your case, let me know. Both of you, enjoy the rest of—"

"You don't have to leave, Caffrey," Bryant interrupts him calmly. "If you want to finish your meal, I'm sure Barbara can refrain from making any more comments."

Neal takes a deep breath and considers his options.

Then he smiles. "Are you saying this because it truly bothers you so much to see good food go unfinished? Because if that's the case, I'm sure we could come up with some less painful solution."

Bryant chuckles. "No, not really. So, are you going to finish with us?"¨

"Well, it is a rather good steak," replies Neal as he sits back down.

"It is, isn't it?" says Barbara with a forced smile.

For a moment, they try to act as if nothing has happened. Then Barbara speaks again.

"I'm sorry for before."

Neal tenses up.

"It's just—you seem like a nice guy. And, well, I want to like you. And we're a team now, so I _need_ to trust you, at least some, but—"

And Neal finally snaps. "Could we _please_ not have this conversation here, surrounded by about a hundred other people?"

"Sorry! I get it, lunchtime; I'm shutting up."

She looks genuinely apologetic, so Neal bites back his sharp words and keeps his tone civil.

"Look, maybe later in private, you can ask me some questions, and I'll decide which ones I want to answer. But I'm not going to justify my past to you. To either of you. No offense."

Then, finally, he manages to finish his lunch in peaceful silence.

o – o – o

Afterwards, Barbara leaves Neal and Bryant to talk to a friend from a different department. As he steps into the elevator for their way down, Neal allows himself to breathe out and relax. Of course, he should have known better by then that it wouldn't last.

"You have to understand that your case was a huge topic here two months ago," says Bryant when the door closes.

Neal stiffens. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm _really_ getting tired of having this conversation again—"

"I just wanted to tell you I'm glad to have you on our team."

Neal looks at him in surprise. "What?" he blurts at last.

"The past is the past," says Bryant. "Sometimes we make mistakes, and sometimes things go wrong on their own." He pauses. "You shouldn't blame yourself for things you didn't do."

"What are you—"

"You weren't the one who kidnapped her, and it's clear you did everything in your power to get her back. Be glad you were so lucky, learn from your mistakes and move on."

"With all respect, Agent Bryant, that isn't any of your business," says Neal tersely.

"Rest assured I won't mention it again. And you can drop the 'Agent'; just Bryant is enough."

"Right," replies Neal neutrally, privately still trying to figure out what that all meant. It's a compliment to his skills that when the elevator stops a few seconds later, he is already fully back in control.

He opens his mouth and his mind fills with possible comments.

Charming and playful: _'Well, soup notwithstanding, it was a delightful lunch.'_

Sarcastic: _'And after the delicious meal with inviting company, back to the thrilling work.'_

Or one to suggest a deeper meaning: _'Bryant … you've given me a lot to think about.'_

"Bryant … thanks."

The agent nods at him. "You'll be fine, Caffrey. And don't get the cold cases bore you to death. It's been a surprising pleasure to talk to someone who actually knows more about Ancient Egypt than what they gleaned from "The Mummy Returns" or "Indiana Jones" movies."

Neal chuckles. "I'm glad to help."

And for the first time since the morning, he begins to believe that eventually, things might still turn out fine.

o – o – o

"This isn't a 'turnabout's fair play' thing, right?"

"Oh, ye of little faith."

"Because if that's what this is about, I want it noted that I didn't actually make you eat that soup."

"It'll be good, trust me."

"… okay, I'll let you work your magic, Grandmaster of All Coffee.… Besides, I still have to find those cookies. I'm sure they were there somewhere.…"

With a mixture of amusement and resignation, Neal wonders how he and Barbara Marks went from suspicion and accusations to apologies and an offer of friendship in a mere one day. But he wasn't going to question it—although he wasn't going to let his guard down yet either.

She'd sought him out a few hours after the debacle in the FBI cafeteria and ambushed him in the kitchen when he was about to take another well-deserved break.

.

"_Caffrey.…"_

_Neal turned around at the sound of the familiar voice. "Hello again," he said a bit too cheerfully. _

"_I've read your files."_

_The recent ones. Of course she would want to satisfy her curiosity, thought Neal bitterly. And he couldn't stop her from looking or questioning. Was there any way he could get out of this with his pride intact?_

"_My files?"_

"_Yeah.… And I still don't really understand, but I'm sorry for badgering you before. I'll try not to do it again."_

"… _All right."_

"_Well then … enjoy the rest of your day." _

_She turned around to leave._

_Surprised by the unexpected turn of events, Neal considered whether he was going to regret this. "Hey, Barbara. Didn't you come here to get some coffee?" He pointed at her empty mug._

_She gave him an awkward grin. "Well, that was mostly a cover to talk to you.… I was actually going to go to out to get a decent cup. Not that this is bad, but I have this really awful case, so I wanted to—well.…"_

"_Get some motivation?" suggested Neal._

"_Yes! Exactly!"_

"_You know what.… Let me make you one." _

"_Is that a peace offering?" said Barbara cautiously. _

"_Maybe. This coffee is actually rather decent quality," said Neal as he took a sip of his own cup. "It's not Italian Roast, but with some effort and a bit of my magic tricks, it's definitely better than most office coffee."_

"'_Magic tricks'? Do tell."_

"_Sorry, it's a secret family recipe." He smiled at her. "So, how about that coffee?"_

"_That depends. Will you stay and let me bring some cookies?"_

"_Depends. Does DC FBI policy allow cookie breaks?" asked Neal only half-jokingly. With his shaky standing here, he didn't really want to be told off for taking a long break on his second day by some agent who was feeling important this afternoon._

"_It's just a break; fifteen, twenty minutes at most. So don't worry about that," said Barbara seriously. Then she grinned. "Besides, it's team-building, and they taught us at Quantico that that's very important."_

"_Fine! Let's be teammates."_

"_Or friends?" Barbara tilted her head. "If—well, if that's okay with you?" _

_Inside, Neal stilled._

_He remembered her speech from a few hours ago. Yet he had to admit that right now, his bantering with Barbara had been fun. _

_Besides, he couldn't very well afford to turn her down. He needed an in to the office, however cold that sounded. _

"_Sure, friends," he said with a smile and set out to prepare her the best coffee possible._

_._

"Wow. This is good. You really do know your "magic tricks", says Barbara as they slowly eat the caramel cookies and sip the coffee. "Forget consulting. I think we should keep you around for the coffee alone."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Mmmm.… And this is really our coffee? You haven't done a switch before my eyes that I didn't notice?"

Neal grins. "Sorry to disappoint, but no. This is the same old brand."

"All right." The agent pulls out a pen and a notepad. "So which one would be good starting material?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm asking, which coffee brand would be the best for your magic trick? Nothing overly expensive, obviously," says Barbara.

Neal lifts his eyebrows. "Are you actually trying to ensnare me into making you coffee?"

"Yes! Can I bribe you into it? I have more cookies."

"You want to bribe me with cookies," says Neal amusedly.

"Or we could just form a coffee-cookie alliance." Barbara smirks. "Well?"

"All right, there might a few options that would be acceptable.…"

"Hi, Barbara," says a strong female voice. "I see that Caffrey has already managed to corrupt you."

Neal and Barbara both look to the door.

At first glance, the woman who just entered reminds Neal a bit of Diana, thanks to the same stature, vaguely similar facial features, the same style of clothing and an air of no-nonsense attitude about her. She is older, though, and unlike Diana, the newcomer wears her hair short, and there is something in her whole posture that makes Neal uneasy, despite her small smile and the fact that she hasn't even threatened to break his legs yet.

In a corner of his mind, Neal imagines what the real Diana would have to say to his inner thoughts.

"Hello, Ruth," says Barbara and stands up.

Neal stands up as well. "Good afternoon, Agent…?"

"Neal, this is Agent Ruth Casey," says Barbara in introduction.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Caffrey," says Casey as she walks inside. Still smiling, she offers him her hand for a handshake. "I couldn't have been more surprised when I found out you'd joined our team. It is fascinating to finally meet the person behind the stories."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Agent Casey," replies Neal charmingly.

As they shake hands, Neal's feeling of unease intensifies, even as there is no apparent cause for it. He also notices that Barbara is watching the exchange with sharp interest.

"So how was Britain, Casey?" she asks neutrally.

"Rainy," replies Casey as she pours her own cup of coffee. "And busy. Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. Enjoy your cookies, kids."

"I think she doesn't like me," muses Neal aloud when Casey leaves them.

"Be careful around Ruth, Caffrey."

Neal turns to Barbara, surprised by her unexpectedly serious tone. "What do you mean?"

"She isn't exactly a team player," explains his new "friend". "Don't get me wrong, Ruth is a brilliant agent, but as a person … well. She's determined to be the best. And when people don't meet her expectations, she can make things ... difficult."

There is a moment of silence. "I'll bear that in mind," says Neal at last.

"Anyway, I think our cookie break is over," says Barbara. "Let's clean this up and get back to business."

o – o – o

It's already past sunset when they finally get home.

It hasn't been a bad day, thinks Kramer as he's pulling the car in. He has made true progress on the hated paperwork, so he was about halfway done. Thanks to Melissa's research, they might have found a new lead on the missing Renoir. Kristin seemed to be only one step away from tracking down the Toyen painting. And finally, Bryant said that Neal had been a real help with his Egyptian case.

_Caffrey._

Neal hasn't been very talkative on their way home; not that he could blame him. The day might have been successful, but it has also been very long. Still, it seemed that his consultant was beginning to make friends with the team. That was definitely a step in the right direction.

Kramer turns off the car engine and lets out a tired breath. "Ohh. Finally."

He gets out and locks the garage, noticing Neal outside in the garden, staring at the street and then turning around and walking to the house entrance. Kramer is following him there when he remembers the necessary task. Knowing he can't avoid it, Philip pulls out his cellphone and makes a quick call to the Marshals to tell them that they're back home.

And that is when he spots it.

He's not sure what _it_ is exactly; a brief expression that crosses Caffrey's face as Philip hangs up and pockets his phone. Was it—distaste? Anger? Disappointment?

Kramer bristles a bit at the implication that Neal has a problem with the logical consequences of his work-release program … but then he releases a mental sigh. After eight phone calls in two days just because of coming and leaving work, he himself was already becoming irritated by the frequent need to report Neal's every move, and it has been only two days since the beginning of the arrangement. He didn't doubt Neal's ingenuity and his skills as an escape artist … but maybe it wouldn't hurt to try to come up with an alternative solution.

He is pulling out his keys when Neal speaks up.

"It looks like we got some mail."

Kramer looks up. "Excuse me?" A second later, he realizes what Neal is talking about.

There is a rectangular package resting on the far edge of the porch. While not overly large, it was apparently too big to fit into the mailbox. In the dark, it wasn't a wonder that Kramer hasn't noticed it before.

"Were you expecting something?" Philip asks curiously.

"No, not really. Were you?"

Kramer shakes his head with an ironic smile. "The last package I got was free advertising 'bio-cereal' samples about four months ago." Then he turns serious and switches on the porch light. "Let me see it."

Apart from its unexpected appearance, the package doesn't look suspicious, at least not at first glance. But with the only two inhabitants of the house being an FBI agent and a (former?) con man, Kramer thinks it isn't entirely unreasonable to take the "better safe than sorry" approach.

Except Caffrey apparently has his own ideas about what's safe, because he is already crouching by the package, carefully lifting it from the ground and looking for the writing.

"It's addressed to me," he says a moment later. "Wait. I recognize the handwriting. And here's the return address." He smiles and stands up. "It's from June."

Kramer searches his memory for the familiar name.…

"You mean Mrs. Ellington?" he asks when he finally makes the connection.

"Yes, that's her," replies Caffrey absentmindedly, still staring at the package in his arms. "She did ask me for the address, but … I didn't realize she would send something so quickly."

"Let's take this inside," says Kramer after a moment of hesitation.

That's when Neal finally looks back at him and his smile disappears. "Right. So is there a special policy on personal mail?"

Ignoring the sharp tone, Kramer takes a deep breath and considers his options. What was the right thing to do as Caffrey's handler? This had to be handled delicately.

"Let's go inside," he repeats, playing for time. To his relief, this time Neal actually listens.

And then they're in the hallway, and Neal takes off his hat and Kramer changes into his slippers. And as Philip looks at Neal, seemingly not caring but apparently having resigned himself to have the package taken away and examined, he suddenly feels ridiculous and almost ashamed.

"Christ, Caffrey, this isn't supposed to be prison."

_Isn't it? _

But he has already made the decision, so he continues. "As you said, it's personal mail. There's nothing wrong with getting a package from your old landlady." _He hopes._ "Although I would prefer it if you told me what was inside … but that's your call."

And Caffrey still doesn't seem happy, but in the end, he says: "Yes, sir," and disappears upstairs.

Philip shakes his head in dismay. Then he goes to make himself dinner.

o – o – o

Upstairs in the safety and privacy of his room, Neal's eyes moisten as he carefully touches the brushes, paints, canvas and other supplies from his perceptive and amazing old friend.

"June, you're the best," he says quietly. Then he picks up the letter from her and begins to read.

* * *

_A/N: All reviews are very much appreciated. _


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